Void
by Sanqhian
Summary: Shawn went away and upon his return he's nothing like the person he used to be. Henry, Juliet, and Gus decide that it's up to Lassiter to figure out why. --Slash--
1. Comfortable Liar

**NOTE**: If you are looking for a happy, lighthearted story please look somewhere else!

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One: Comfortable Liar**

_With his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth Shawn put the last piece of his project into place, then leaned back to admire his work. He'd spent the better portion of the morning working on it and had to admit that it turned out rather nice. Glancing at the clock on the microwave he knew that it was only a matter of minutes until Gus came waltzing through the door. The office was still a mess, complete disarray, and he'd promised his best friends of years that he would get things cleaned up and organized. At least he could say with good conscience that he started the project. That's when he found the bucket buried in the back of the cabinet. Curiosity prompted him to open the plain looking white bucket and the surprise inside distracted him._

_He heard the door open, jumping to his feet and settling on the edge of his desk to hide his big surprise. Gus walked into the room looking like his usual self but he stopped dead in his track. He glared at Shawn. "I thought you were going to clean this place up, Shawn. If a perspective client were to come in here and see this place they'd walk right back out the door."_

_Gus picked up a day old banana peel from the floor, cocking an eyebrow in Shawn's direction as he held it up._

"_I meant to clean, really," Shawn said. "See," he pointed toward one corner of the office. Everything was in its place and the lamp was sparkly with a good polish. But the space was small, hard to notice in the clutter._

"_Shawn…."_

"_I promise it'll be done by the end of the day," proclaimed Shawn._

_Gus merely shook his head. "What the hell kept you from getting it done earlier? You do know that if you would just do the job it wouldn't be such a big issue."_

"_You sound like my father."_

"_Your father happens to be a brilliant man," Gus countered._

_Shawn moved aside so that Gus could have a clean shot of his desk, like one of the beautiful woman on a game show showcasing a prize Shawn stood there grinning madly. "Ta-da."_

"_What the hell is that?"_

"_What the hell is it?" Shawn echoed. "Gus, it's the office. This very office, down to the last detail."_

"_You spent the morning creating a Lego replica of the office instead of cleaning?"_

"_Come on, Gus! It's not just any replica; it's a complete rendition of the office done to scale. Look," he walked around his desk and pulled open the top drawer to retrieve something, "I even have you and me."_

_Gus grabbed the small Lego men that Shawn held out. One of them was wearing a bright green shirt with the word Psych written in white across the chest. Clearly supposed to be Shawn given that there was a handmade cup in one hand, no doubt one of those pineapple smoothies that he so liked. The other Lego person was supposed to be him but he wasn't buying it. Not the khaki pants or the dress shirt. He held up the Lego version of himself._

"_Seriously, a pocket protector? Since when do I wear pocket protectors?"_

_The familiar sound of sirens interrupted the conversation. Shawn ran to the window like a little kid who'd heard the jaunty song of the ice cream truck. Sadly, Gus had seen him do that the day before and then run outside to get himself one of those alien shaped ice creams. Didn't think to ask him if he wanted anything but that was typical Shawn. Sometimes he was so grown up and other times, well, he acted more like a child. Gus figured that it might have to do with Mr. Spencer and the way he chose to raise Shawn. Having a cop for a father could be hard; it made it really hard to get away with things that most kids got to enjoy on a daily basis._

_Shawn giggled. "Looks like we're needed. Away to the psych mobile," he yelled before racing out the door._

_--------------------------------------------------------------------_

_The two of them walked tentatively around the crime scene. A few officers were talking to people that happened to be in the area, one of them might be a witness to the crime. Shawn picked out the unmarked red car that belonged to Detective Carlton Lassiter, and wherever Lassiter was he knew he could find Juliet O'Hara. There was something that he wanted to ask her about, something he was hoping she could give him the answer to. If he could corner her before Lassiter whisked her away then he planned on picking her brain on the subject nearest and dearest to his heart. Of course, that meant letting someone else in on his little secret. Could he trust her?_

_He ducked under the yellow crime scene tape that danced in the cool breeze coming off the ocean. He waved to one of the officers, Buzz. The officer happened to be a good friend. Most of the people at the precinct weren't willing to deal with Shawn; even the boss could barely tolerate him at times. None of that mattered to him, though. He did everything he could to keep his foot in the door at the precinct so that he could hang around his object of affection, see the one thing in the world that made him happy._

"_Lassiter isn't going to want us here," Gus whispered in his ear as he trailed behind him. "We weren't asked by anyone to be here."_

"_Pfft, they'll welcome our help when I solve the case."_

_Together they walked into the house. Shawn followed the voice of Lassiter, making sure that along the way he picked up a few hints about the people living in the house. He wanted to make sure he didn't miss a thing. He finally stumbled across Lassiter and Jules in the living room. The two of them were talking to each other about the scene. A sheet had been thrown over the victim so Shawn wasn't exactly sure if it was the husband or the wife, at least, not at first. A quick glance around the room gave him all the details he needed to figure out which of the residents was the victim. He was also able to figure out the entire series of events that led to her murder. It was a classic open and shut case. The husband committed the crime. Now to put on the theatrics of being a psychic that kept the money in his bank account._

_Gus must have read his mind because he caught the glare on his friend's face, the shaking of his head. Typical Shawn, he chose to ignore his best friend. He didn't even bother to really announce his presence, having already gotten a smile from Jules. He started doing his act, hands to the head and eyes closed. He began to make noise, then started stumbling around the room like he was starting to get a transmission from beyond the grave._

_And everything went south quickly._

_He wasn't paying close enough attention to what he was doing and bumped a table with a priceless piece of artwork sitting atop it. The table wobbled. Gus jumped forward to catch the statue but missed. It hit the ground shattering into pieces, the sound echoing throughout the room._

_Lassiter glared at Shawn, seething. "What the hell…"_

"_Carlton," Jules said hoping to distract him._

"_You idiot," the head detective yelled. He'd put up with Shawn's antics long enough and couldn't take it anymore. He'd been having a bad week as it was, the last thing he needed was to deal with the annoying young man. "Do you ever stop to think before you act? What if that had been a piece of evidence? You could have completely fucked up the case. How the hell could someone like you have a father like Henry Spencer, a respectable man?"_

"_Carlton," Jules said reaching out and taking her partner by the arm. She could see how crushed Shawn looked, knowing in that moment the truth about something over which she'd been speculating._

_Carlton shook free of her grasp. "I want you out of my crime scene and out of my hair, Shawn. Get out!"_


	2. Send the Pain Below

**Two: Send the Pain Below**

Gus sipped at the pineapple smoothie he'd ordered, flipping through the pages of the morning newspaper. He usually wasn't such a big fan of the smoothies but they were Shawn's favorite and he drank them solely for that reason. It didn't take him long to realize that Shawn influenced a lot of the things he did over the years. His best friend could be a very persuasive man. The type of man that got on everyone's nerves while at the same time charming them. Unless of course one counted Lassiter, the only person that Shawn could never get fully on his side. For some reason he annoyed the hell out of the detective, got under his skin.

He sighed, taking another sip of the pineapple smoothie. He stopped by the same restaurant everyday to have his smoothie and read the morning news. Then he would go on his way to his job. It became routine as he waited for something important to happen. That thing never happened, though, and each passing day it got harder and harder to sit in the same chair and go through the motions. Perhaps tomorrow he wouldn't show up, he'd skip this all together. Then again, he'd been saying that exact thing to himself for the last week and still ended up at the restaurant with the damned pineapple smoothie.

Neatly he folded the paper, then plucked the smoothie from the table, draining the last of the delicious liquid from the cup. Someone settled in the seat across from him and for a fleeting moment it got his hopes up. Then he saw that it was Juliet. She had her beautiful blond hair up in a ponytail and was wearing a stylish outfit that she wouldn't be caught dead in at work. It must have been her day off he figured. He hated to think it but she looked kind of tired, maybe a little rundown. Police work could be hard when you didn't have someone there to help you with the cases.

"How are you doing Gus?"

"Fine," he replied flatly. He loved talking to Juliet but she wasn't the person he wanted to see sitting across from him at that moment.

She smiled sweetly, sadly. "Wish that I could say the same. Who would have known that I'd miss him so much? The precinct is so quiet, boring. I can't believe that it's been nearly eight months. Have you heard anything lately?"

"He stopped contacting me three months ago," Gus muttered, fighting back the urge to get mad, then suppressing the need to cry. He was a grown man; he was not going to cry, definitely not in front of a beautiful woman.

Had it really been nearly eight months? Sometimes it seemed like only yesterday while on a particularly horrible days it seemed like a lifetime. Who knew that a day months ago would change everything? Lassiter yelled at Shawn a lot, said rude things to him every time the two of them crossed each others paths. And yet, something about that day really hurt Shawn. He left the crime scene that day without putting up a fight even though Gus tried convincing him to stay. He noticed a subtle difference in his friend's attitude. Gone was that carefree spirit he'd been exhibiting that very morning when he built the Lego office; which was now sitting in Gus's apartment on the dining table.

The next day Shawn didn't show up at the Psych office. Gus tried getting a hold of him all day without results. Then a second day passed. A third. For some reason he'd been avoiding going to see Henry but finally went 'round to see what Shawn's father might know. The former cop looked like his usual self when he answered the door. There might have been a flicker of pain and worry when Gus asked about Shawn. That's when Henry handed him the note. Even eight months later he remembered it word for word, sentence by sentence. Not that it really mattered. Shawn had packed a few things, gotten on his motorcycle and left.

For five months he received sporadic letters and emails from Shawn. None of them overly detailed and he never bothered answering any of the questions Gus asked. Oddly enough, though their relationship had never been great, Henry got some form of correspondence from Shawn every week. Whatever was said between the two of them stayed that way with Henry only giving Gus a general idea of how things were in his best friend's new life.

New life. In the beginning he figured that Shawn would be gone a month or two, just hitting the road to clear his head. He never expected his friend to be gone for so long. And now he was wondering if Shawn would ever come home. If he would ever see his best friend again. When he stopped receiving word from Shawn three months ago he felt a flutter of panic. It was like his friend had fallen off the face of the planet or decided to sever all ties with his life in Santa Barbara.

Juliet shook her head. "What about Henry, how is he fairing?"

Gus chewed on the end of the straw while he tried to think of what to tell her. Might as well stick with the truth, she'd find out on her own anyway. "Not so well. I mean, he seemed okay with things in the beginning but lately…."

"What?" Juliet pushed.

"Shawn stopped communications with his father about a month ago."

Surprise flashed across her face. "So nobody has heard from him in a month? Maybe he's decided not to come back."

"I was thinking that myself."

"I wish we could get a hold of him," Juliet said. She slumped down in her chair upset. "He never answered any of the emails I sent him."

Gus stood, leaving the newspaper on the center of the table and heading toward the trashcan with the smoothie cup in hand. Juliet followed him quietly. He threw the cup in the trash, looking over his shoulder at her. "Perhaps it is time that we forget Shawn, move on with our lives. He isn't coming home. And I got an offer on the Psych office."


	3. Closure

**Three: Closure**

Henry swept a hand through the gutter gathering up the leaves and other debris that had accumulated there in the last few months. As he worked he tried not to think about his son. He tried to keep from dwelling on the fact that when he got the mail a short time ago that there'd been nothing from Shawn. He'd been checking his email every hour on the hour for the same thing. He couldn't believe that it had been so long since he last heard from his boy. Despite what Shawn might have thought he really did love him, even if they did have their differences. They quarreled like every other father and son. Maybe he'd been wrong in not telling Shawn how proud he was of him. Sure, he would have been happier if Shawn was making an honest living as a cop instead of pretending to be psychic. But could he really stay mad at the boy who was still helping people with abilities honed over his childhood?

It bothered him a great deal that Shawn's communication suddenly stopped. He missed the postcards and random emails. They never really said anything about what was going on in Shawn's life but at least they let him know that his boy was still alive and breathing somewhere. Maybe Shawn had runaway and joined the circus again. Maybe he was working some job where they didn't have computers and he couldn't get near the mail. He toyed with these thoughts for so long. None of them ever brought true comfort.

When Shawn left all those months ago he expected the boy to go for a long drive, maybe be gone all of week before finally heading home. It wasn't like Shawn to just up and disappear for lengthy periods of time. Especially without keeping Gus in the loop. To this day he still didn't know the real reason for Shawn leaving without saying a word, though he had a pretty good feeling that it had something to do with Detective Lassiter. The two of them never discussed it but he'd seen the subtle changes in his son when it came to the abrasive detective. The way his eyes would light up, the tone of his voice. How he was always striving to be around the detective even if it meant making Lassiter mad. Henry didn't care who his son fell in love with as long as he was happy and treated well.

He kept thinking that he should march down to the precinct, corner Lassiter and have it out with him. That might get him some answers. Alas, it wouldn't bring him any closer to locating his son. The postcards never came from the same place so that left out tracking him via the postmarks. And if he was using different post offices he no doubt logged onto various computers. Shawn knew how to hide when he really wanted to go off the radar. Probably something else the he picked up from his ole man.

Henry sighed, finding that his heart wasn't really into cleaning the gutters. That had been happening a lot lately. He couldn't even remember the last time he went out fishing. That used to be something he did at least once a week but now…for some reason everything he did made him think of Shawn. When it came to his favorite past time he couldn't help thinking how much Shawn hated fishing. He stepped down a rung on the ladder, heard the scuff of sneaker on gravel. It drew his attention toward the edge of the yard, the street. A young man wearing jeans and a faded t-shirt was walking down the sidewalk; a baseball cap pulled low concealing his face.

As he finished climbing down the ladder he started thinking that maybe it was time to move on. He'd been keeping up the payments on Shawn's apartment should his son decide to return home. However, it looked like that wasn't going to happen any time soon. Perhaps tomorrow, if he could bring himself to do it, he would head over to Shawn's place and start packing his son's belongings. He could store the stuff in his garage. Sell the apartment. As hard as it was to think of he needed to get on with his life, needed to move beyond this point. There was a good chance that Shawn was not coming home.

While folding up the wooden ladder he realized that the young man he'd seen walking down the sidewalk a few minutes ago was now standing at the edge of the yard gazing in his direction. He still could not make out the man's facial features due to the ball cap. He was on the verge of asking the stranger what he wanted when the man raised his head. Henry's heart skipped a beat. He would know those eyes anywhere. The ladder forgotten it fell to the ground with a thud as Henry made his way down the walk. He fought the urge to run for fear of what that might say about him. He did not like to be seen as the emotional type.

But his voice broke when he said the one name that had been on his mind for the last eight months. "Shawn."

Shawn didn't say anything, merely looked at his father. No wise remarks passed through his lips, no glint of mischief was present in his eyes. In fact, the longer Henry looked at his son the more he saw that something was wrong, though he couldn't completely put his finger on it. Could it be that the light in his son's eyes seemed dimmer, like the eyes of a man beaten down over the years, a man who had seen too much? Was it because his son looked tense, ready to run at any given moment? It _was_ Shawn that stood before him and yet at the same time this person was a stranger to him. Something had happened to his son, of that he was certain.

"Shawn," he whispered his son's name as he finally embraced him, fighting back the tears that threatened to break free. For a second nothing happened, then Shawn wrapped his arms around his dad. A heartbeat later it sounded like he was crying. What had happened to his son?


	4. The Red

**Four: The Red**

His pace slowed as he neared the edge of the yard. The house before him was so familiar, so much like a second home. He'd spent countless years running around in the yard and trying to pull off various high jinks that never worked because Mr. Spencer always caught him and Shawn. Then there was usually some lesson to be learned. And Mr. Spencer always found chores for them to do. Still, he wouldn't trade his years with Shawn for anything in the world. Those were memories he would always cherish. Especially since he seemed like he was never going to see Shawn again.

Much to his surprise Juliet stepped-up beside him. "So you got a call from him, too, huh?"

"Yeah," Gus replied. "Was it me or did he sound…I don't know, odd?"

"Happy but on the verge of sadness, if that's possible," she readily agreed. "I wonder what's up. Do you think he's heard from Shawn? Could something have happened?"

Gus swallowed down the sudden bad taste in his mouth. He'd been thinking thoughts like that all morning since finding the voicemail on his cell phone. He listened to the message over and over again trying to figure out why Mr. Spencer sounded so weird. Then he started having all kinds of terrible thoughts about Shawn and what might have happened to his best friend.

"There's only one way to find out," he said, "and that's to knock on the door."

Together they walked up the walkway. Gus fought the urge to reach out and grasp Juliet's hand, afraid that she might read more into the gesture than he wanted or she'd simply pull away. For some reason the walk seemed longer than it ever had before, almost like the world was passing quickly while they moved in slow motion. He kept looking around with hopes of spotting the motorcycle that Shawn liked to use when not trying to get the keys to Gus's company car. He didn't spot the motorcycle, though he did find it odd that the ladder lay in the yard. Mr. Spencer wasn't exactly one to leave his stuff laying around. Maybe he should stop and put it away for the retired cop.

But before he knew it Juliet was knocking on the door. As though he'd been waiting on the other side Mr. Spencer opened the door immediately after her knock. He ushered them in quickly, then shut the door. Without saying anything he led them to the kitchen, offered them some coffee. They both declined. He seemed…off, that's the only way Gus could put it. The man standing before him wasn't the same Mr. Spencer he'd known all his life. Something definitely rattled his world and that meant something big had happened.

"Why did you call us here?" Juliet asked, obviously better at keeping cool under situations of duress.

"He came back," Henry said. "Shawn came back."

"What?" Juliet and Gus said in unison.

"Yesterday afternoon I was out cleaning the gutters and suddenly he was just there," explained Henry, looking at the stairs that led to the second floor.

"And he didn't come to see me?" Gus instantly felt hurt. Why hadn't his friend bothered to phone or stop by? He'd been waiting all these months to hear from Shawn. Why couldn't his buddy take a little time, a minute, to let him know that he had returned to Santa Barbara? Last time he checked Shawn was upset with Lassiter, not mad at him. Had something changed without his knowledge? Could it be the same thing that made Shawn stop contact with him three months ago?

Juliet had the sense of mind to read more into Henry's tone of voice. "What's wrong?"

"He's not himself," said Henry quite plainly. Henry explained to them how Shawn looked beaten down, almost like someone shattered his spirit. He told them that he talked a mile a minute, totally unlike himself, while he hustled Shawn into the house the day before. No matter what he said Shawn never spoke a word. He fidgeted a bit, then went up to his old room. Henry tried to get him to come down for dinner and for breakfast but the bedroom door remained shut.

Gus was shaking his head. "That doesn't sound like Shawn. He's usually so…hyper."

"Precisely." Henry held up a finger, then disappeared into the living room. When he returned he was carrying a t-shirt in one hand. "I found the clothes he was wearing when he came home. They were crumpled up in the hamper in the bathroom so I'm assuming at some point last night he left his room." He handed the shirt to Juliet. "Tell me what you see."

She held up the shirt and even Gus was able to see what had worried the man he considered to be a second father. There was blood on the shirt. He wasn't an expert when it came to telling how old blood was or anything like that but seeing the red stain on a shirt that belonged to his friend evoked a lot of emotion. Juliet was doing her best to inspect the shirt with her police training. The stain was at least the size of a hand and on the right side about halfway between the sleeve and the bottom hem.

Juliet peered at the stain from the inside of the shirt. "I'm not an expert per say, but it almost looks like this stain was caused from the inside out."

"Which would mean it's Shawn's blood," hazarded Gus.

"Unless someone else was wearing the shirt," Juliet threw out there as a suggestion.

Henry was shaking his head. "Shawn has had that shirt for a few years. I recognize it simply because I never liked it."

"So Shawn got hurt," Gus reasoned.

"Something happened to him while he was gone. Something that probably started three months ago, about the time he stopped talking to Gus," Henry said. "My guess is that it got much worse; which is why he stopped talking to me. Why he's suddenly home, I don't know, though I am eternally happy. The problem is that there's something wrong with my son and nothing I can do."

Juliet carefully placed the t-shirt on the counter. "There's always something you can do."

"No, Shawn won't listen to me. He's never really listened to me. But I have a plan," Henry said. Then he started to lay it out for them, telling them what he had in mind. To him it seemed the most logical and perfect way to go, even if neither one of them readily agreed.


	5. What's Next?

**Five: Wonder What's Next**

He glared at the computer screen thinking that he could scare it into doing what he wanted merely by looking at it. Alas, no matter how long he glared in its direction nothing changed. He wasn't too pleased with the things he'd been reading, the reports and all that crap. What happened to all the good news in the world? When did it go to hell? Though he couldn't complain too much, there were certain parts of his day that had been wonderful, at least for the time being.

Then he made the mistake of looking up from his desk toward the stairs leading to the entrance of the building. At first he wasn't all that surprised to see O'Hara walking through the precinct. She was running late, he thought, then he remembered that she shouldn't even be in today. It was her day off so what the hell was she doing here walking in his direction?

And why was Mr. Spencer a few steps behind her? Then he spotted Guster and wished that he could vanish right there on the spot. For the last few months work had been peaceful without Gus and his hoodlum friend banging around his crime scenes. He was actually able to get his work done, able to prove that the department did not need to pay the likes of a psychic to get results. He never bought Shawn's game for a minute, however, he could never figure out how the man got his answers.

Mr. Spencer knocked on the door to the chief's office, then stepped inside when she told him it was okay. Lassiter sighed with relief, happy that he wouldn't have to deal with the older Spencer today. That left him with O'Hara and Guster. As though it was the most normal thing in the world O'Hara sat in here chair at her desk which was basically right across from his. Gus sidled over like her co-conspirator.

"Alright, out with it, whatever you're thinking I'm going to say no," he informed them.

O'Hara flashed him one of her megawatt smiles but it didn't work on him the way it did on others. He knew how to tell when she was up to no good. "Well, we need your help, Carlton. Nothing you can't handle."

"Then do it yourself."

"But you would be so much better," Gus said, no doubt buttering him up.

He sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, glare shifting from one to the other. "I'm going to give you five minutes and then I'm getting out of this chair and going about my work. Speak."

"It's like this," O'Hara said getting right down to business. No point in trying to bullshit her way out of this, though it would have been a nice thing. When she heard the initial plan from Mr. Spencer earlier in the day she was afraid that he had gone crazy. On the ride over to the precinct she realized that it was really the only thing that would work in their hour of need. "Shawn came back. He won't talk to his father, not one word. According to Mr. Spencer he's been in his room with the door closed since he came back."

"And why is that my concern?" interrupted Lassiter not seeing where this was exactly going but felt that he wasn't going to like it.

Gus stepped in, handing Shawn's shirt to Lassiter. "He was wearing this and there's a good chance it's his blood. Henry says he has a haunted look in his eyes. As Shawn's father he should know when something is wrong with his son and he's very worried that something traumatic happened to Shawn."

Lassiter pushed away from his desk, standing, not happy in the least. "You're his best friend, Gus. And he loves hanging out with you, O'Hara. I don't see why the hell you need me."

The two of them exchanged a look, speaking without uttering a single word. They were debating whether or not to tell Lassiter the biggest secret of Shawn's life, or what used to be his biggest secret. Suddenly Henry walked over to join their little group. Somehow he figured out where the conversation had gone though he'd been in having a word with the chief. He looked at Lassiter. For a short while the two of them had been friends, the two of them sharing a love of fishing, not to mention the simple fact that it irked Shawn.

"Detective, my guess is that these two have been pussyfooting around the issue at hand," Henry started. "So I am going to come right out and say what it is that they haven't. I want you to visit my son. I want you to spend a little time with him to find out what the hell happened in the months that he was gone."

"Why?"

"Because Shawn likes you. From the first day you were the one he opted to talk about all the time," Henry told the detective. "And I am not saying that as a friendly thing. Shawn really likes you, Carlton. It's taken me a while to accept that given the way you treat him but…I can't deny my boy his happiness."

Lassiter blanched. He could not believe what he was hearing and from Shawn's own father nonetheless. How could he have missed it? How could he have not seen it with his own two eyes? He was supposed to be a big time detective able to see all the clues. So how the hell had he missed the fact that Shawn, the annoying little twerp that he was, had fallen in love with him? Maybe on some level he knew how Shawn felt about him but refused to acknowledge it. What else was he supposed to do? Shawn drove him crazy, and not in a good way.

But standing there now looking at the unshed tears in O'Hara's eyes, the worry on Gus's face and the determination in Henry's stance he knew that he couldn't turn away. Shawn may have been one of the most annoying things in his life, yet he felt that he had to do this; after all they came to him. They knew how he felt about Shawn and they still came here to ask him to help.

"Fine," he relented, wondering if he would regret this decision. "What exactly do you want me to do?"


	6. Forfeit

**Six: Forfeit**

Had he completely lost his mind? How the hell did he let them talk him into this? He should have been back at the precinct doing his job like he did every day. For the last ten minutes he'd been sitting in his car outside of the Spencer household. Somewhere within the simple house Shawn lurked behind a closed door. What did it matter to him if Shawn ever started acting like his old self? He must have experienced a lapse of sanity back there when the three of them ganged up on him.

Precisely, they ganged up on him, the came at him at once so that he had no choice but to give in. And the fact that Henry had a few words with the chief didn't help any. No doubt he couldn't get out of this by calling her. She seemed to like Shawn, though on occasion it felt to him that she might give the younger man what for and kick him to the curb.

He checked his watch, sighing. Either he sat out here all day or he went in and got it out of the way. Grudgingly, he stepped out of the car, closing the door while gazing up at the house. Did that curtain move or was it his imagination? Looking around he started toward the house, walking slowly. He knocked on the front door knowing full well that Shawn wouldn't be answering the door. For that reason Henry instructed him that the front door would be unlocked, the house free for entering.

Couldn't he find a way out of this? How come his pager wasn't going off, why wasn't he getting any calls? It's not like he was wishing for someone to die a grisly death but it would get him out of this, a way out that nobody could blame him for.

Stepping into the house he closed the door, waited, listened. Aside from the usual sounds of a house, the ticking of the refrigerator and such, he heard nothing. Were they even sure that Shawn was home? For all they knew he could have sneaked out the window in the middle of the night.

Night.

He thought about the bloody t-shirt. There _had_ been a lot of red on the shirt, he had to admit that. And it actually worried him some. He couldn't recall whether or not Shawn had ever been seriously hurt while he knew the kid. Sure there had been the incident with the motorcycle that left him with a bum knee and a limp but aside from that nothing major ever befell the poor guy. Poor guy? What the hell was he thinking? Shawn wasn't some poor guy. He was an annoying little pest that somehow managed to get his way no matter what the situation. Was that happening now? He couldn't be sure but it was something to think about later.

"Shawn?" he called out, hoping to avoid having to venture into the man's room. Not surprisingly there was a lack of answering. Did he hear someone shuffling around upstairs?

Grumbling up the steps he went, trailing his steps. He stopped outside the only closed door on the upper floor. Rapping his knuckles on the door he waited. Nothing. "Shawn?"

"Go away," came the mumbled reply.

Lassiter thought about turning around, returning to the precinct, after all, Shawn had told him to leave. _He won't talk to me._ He couldn't leave now. Shawn wasn't talking to anyone but suddenly he got more than one word out of the guy. Maybe this wouldn't be nearly as bad as he thought. He knocked again, a little harder this time.

"I'm not leaving, Shawn, so you might as well come to the door," Lassiter told him.

"Leave me alone."

"Stop acting like such a child and just open the fucking door."

This time there was no answer. He sighed, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. Normally he would have left; he damn well nearly did, making it to the head of the staircase before he stopped. He kept thinking about the conversation with Mr. Spencer, the worry in the other man's voice, the look on his face. He'd been around Mr. Spencer long enough, got to know the man to a good point, even saw how he handled his son. But seeing the ex-cop standing there looking lost and unsure…

He sighed, turning around. In a split second a thousand thoughts went racing through his mind. Shawn used to be so upbeat. He would yell at Shawn nearly every day for the stupid things he did at crime scenes, the stunts he pulled. Never before had it gotten under Shawn's skin so what happened that last day to send the psychic running, disappearing for months without a real explanation? In the course of his job he learned a lot about people, for Shawn to have done a complete about face into a somber, reclusive person meant that something very troubling had to have happened.

Would Shawn…? Until now he never thought the psychic the type to go over the edge. He always thought that Shawn would just roll with the punches. Now he knew better. He should have kept a lid on his anger. Right now, though, he relied on that anger to get him through the door of Shawn's bedroom, throwing his weight into the door. The door was no match for him, opening that first time sending him stumbling into Shawn's room. Mr. Spencer might be pissed but surely he would understand the need to repair the door.

Shawn was standing near the window, arms crossed over his chest. He glared at Lassiter. The sight of Shawn brought him up short. Where was the man that he'd grown used to over the last few months, years? What happened to that kidding, upbeat, opportunistic, push button, charming man that got under his skin? There were dark circles under Shawn's eyes giving him a haunted look. The way he stood there Lassiter got the impression that he was scared, hiding from something in his room.

He took a step forward.

"Get out of my room," Shawn said, anger lacing his words.

"No can do. I mean, this isn't exactly the place that I want to be but do you have any idea what it's like to have your dad, Gus, and O'Hara gang up on you?" he tried to make it sound lighthearted, good natured. Apparently it wasn't working.

Shawn stalked toward him. "Well if you aren't leaving then I am."

"Not if I have anything to do with it," he said, stepping in Shawn's way. He grabbed Shawn by the arm. From there the two of them scuffled a little as Lassiter tried his best to keep Shawn from leaving. Finally he threw Shawn back against the door, a fistful of shirt in each hand. He was about to start yelling at Shawn when something caught his attention. "You're bleeding."


	7. My Life Would Suck Without You

**Seven: My Life Would Suck Without You**

"Would you stop fighting me?" Lassiter said as he tried again to pull Shawn's shirt up so that he could see the source of the bleeding. Not surprisingly Shawn kept trying to keep the detective from getting what he wanted, putting up a fairly good fight. The detective sighed, backing up a step. "Fine. I came out here to help but if you want to spend the rest of the day sulking in your room, be my guest. I have other things to do."

He headed for the stairs, making it half way down when he thought he heard Shawn calling after him. He stopped, waited a heartbeat. "Lassiter…"

Despite himself a smile tugged at the corner's of his mouth. He figured Shawn wouldn't let him get out the front door, not if what Mr. Spencer said was true about his boy having a certain kind of feeling for him. Turning around he returned to Shawn's bedroom to find the younger man sitting on the bed, his arms crossed over his chest. By now the blood had created quite the spot on his shirt. Without asking Lassiter went to the bathroom. If he was going to find a first aid kit anywhere that would be the place, and he located it under the sink. Returning to the bedroom he pulled a chair away from a desk, positioning himself in front of Shawn, placing the first aid kit on the bed beside him.

"All right, off with it," Lassiter said without missing a beat. Then it dawned on him what exactly he said. How would Shawn respond to it?

Instead of removing his shirt completely Shawn pulled up the side to allow Lassiter the access he needed to treat the wound. When the detective saw the bleeding wound he blanched involuntarily. He'd been expecting some sort of cut, nothing too bad but what he saw was shocking. To his trained eye it looked like someone had very purposely taken a knife to Shawn's side leaving a wound at least two or three inches in length. A closer look made Lassiter feel sick to his stomach.

"What the hell is this?" he asked, surprised by the anger and concern in his voice. Could it be that he actually cared for Shawn in some way? "We need to take you to the hospital, Spencer. This needs stitches."

"No," Shawn answered vehemently.

"Shawn…"

He started shaking his head, his eyes wide. "No, I'm not going to the hospital."

Lassiter saw instantly that he was going to have to give up the fight without putting much effort into it. Something about the idea of going to the hospital clearly spooked Shawn. What the hell happened while he was away? Lassiter wanted to ask that simple question so bad, the detective in him burned with desire to know the answers to all of Shawn's recent secrets. But pushing wouldn't do either of them any good. He could push all he wanted, Shawn wouldn't give. And pushing too hard could very well send Shawn over the edge into a place nobody wanted him to stumble into. So biting his tongue he treated the wound the best he could, muttering under his breath that it needed stitches.

When he finished he put all the stuff back in the first aid kit, then sat back. Shawn looked at the job that Lassiter had done, and Lassiter could have sworn that he saw a bruise along Shawn's collarbone. He was beginning to get a very sinking feeling about what happened to Shawn, a good inkling of what went down in the months that Shawn was away, at least in the last month or so.

"You know that you're dad is worried about you."

Shawn looked away, averted his eyes, said nothing.

"And Gus is beside himself."

Still no answer.

"Don't you want to see them? Reassure them that you're okay?"

He shook his head, closing his eyes momentarily. "No, thank you."

"Spencer…"

"Please, Lassiter," he sighed. "Please just let it go."

Lassiter put his hands up in surrender. "Fine. Whatever you want."

----------------------------------------------------------------------

"How did it go?" O'Hara asked the minute Lassiter returned to the precinct.

Lassiter shook his head. "How did it go? He's not very talkative, very unlike himself," he explained. At least he didn't have to say anything in front of Gus or Mr. Spencer. He sat at his desk, firing up his computer. More than anything he wanted to think about things not related to the psychic or his family or even the crimes they ended up working together.

O'Hara must have sensed something about him because she settled quietly at her desk and started filling out paperwork from a recently solved case. They continued to work in silence for hours, the day eventually fading away to night. At one point Buzz got into it with another officer and the two of them were laughing like a couple of school kids over something pointless. For some reason it made Lassiter think of Shawn sitting sullenly in his room, the fear in his eyes shining brightly. He was getting his desk in order and planning on leaving when the chief approached him. She asked in a hushed voice what he thought of his visit with Shawn. He actually skirted around answering the question, rushing out the door.

Unfortunately O'Hara managed to catch him before he could reach his car. She put a hand on his arm to stop him. "What happened, Carlton? You look…I don't know, unsure of something."

He wasn't sure what to say.

"Did seeing Shawn shake you up that bad?"

"You have no idea what it's like," he said, shaking his head once. "There's something missing. He's not the same in any way. No laughs, no wisecracks. He has dark circles under his eyes suggesting that he hasn't slept in a while. And I located the source of the bleeding."

"And?"

"I might be wrong but it looked deliberate, O'Hara," he confessed.

The shock registered on her face, a hand fluttering to her mouth. "Are you thinking that he did it?"

"No…I don't know what to think. He wouldn't really say anything to me," Lassiter told her. "I got the feeling that he wanted to be left alone."

She looked saddened, troubled. Suddenly he wished that he'd kept the information to himself. Apparently something was going on with Shawn and the younger man didn't want any of them to know what it was. What right did he have in spreading theories and possible lies? He muttered a good-bye, leaving her standing on the sidewalk deep in her own troubled thoughts about Shawn. He was walking to his car in the dimly lit parking lot. He usually kept his unmarked car close to the entrance of the precinct but he'd been so deep in thought about his strange visit with Shawn that he wasn't paying attention and just parked in the first spot he came across.

He was fishing his car keys out of his pocket when he noticed someone leaning against the side of his car. His pace faltered when he realized that it was Shawn, definitely the last person that he expected to see. What was he going to say? He tried to think of something to say as he drew closer to his car. Nothing would come to mind. Shawn saved him from having to think of anything.

"I don't want to stay at home," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Lassiter wasn't aware of what he was saying until the words were already out of his mouth. "Then you can stay at my place tonight."

"Thank you," he said pulling open the passenger side door. "I…Lassiter…it might be wrong of me to say this but…life would suck without you."


	8. Cry

**Eight: Cry**

Henry paced around the house with his hands crossed over his chest. He hated not being able to do anything to help his son. He may not have seemed like the most supportive or loving father at times but Shawn meant the world to him. He wanted Shawn to be happy, to have everything he ever wanted in life. Even if that meant pretending to be something that he wasn't in order to achieve what he considered police work. Shawn tried hard to please him, why couldn't he let his son know that he cared? Why did he wait until now, until everything fell apart?

Of course, he still hadn't told Shawn but that had to do with the fact that his only child wasn't talking to him, wouldn't even utter a peep. When he came home from visiting a neighbor he went right upstairs and knocked on Shawn's closed bedroom door. He wanted to exchange some words, see if that visit from Lassiter did anything to help get Shawn out of his funk. He knocked a few times, got no answer. He even called out Shawn's name to let him know who was standing at the door. Still nothing. That's when he realized that the door had been busted, pushing it open the slightest bit. Leave it up to Lassiter to break something, though the detective probably had a good reason.

Henry's heart broke when he pushed the door open further. The first thing he noticed was the first aid kit sitting on the bed beside a few bloody antiseptic wipes. Walking into the room he picked up the crumbled lump at the foot of the bed. Another t-shirt with blood. The worry in his stomach grew heavier bringing him to the verge of being physically ill. What was his son hiding from him? The curtain concealing the window danced gently in the breeze. Henry kept the shirt in hand as he pulled aside the material to see that the window was open, the screen pushed out.

Shawn had sneaked out at some point.

Before or after his visit with Lassiter?

He'd been expecting to get a call from the detective for the better part of the evening. He wanted to hear how things went, figured that if Shawn would talk to anyone it would be the person that sent him running in the first place. The logic might have seemed faulty to some but that's because they didn't understand Shawn the way he did. His son had a way of doing things that people least expected.

Upset he made it downstairs in record time, picking up the phone to call Gus and O'Hara. Neither one of them had seen Shawn or even heard from him. Henry pressed Detective O'Hara for any information but though she admitted to having talked with Lassiter she claimed that he kept things from her. It didn't take a genius to figure out that she was keeping something from him. He wanted to push but held himself back out of fear of what she might say.

Suddenly someone knocked on the door. He stopped pacing; staring at the door with a million questions racing through his mind, fear edging its way into his consciousness. What if the person on the other side of the door was going to tell him that something horrible happened to Shawn? He remembered making those visits when he was on the force. He never expected to get one, though. Biting his bottom lip he went to the door. He sighed with relief when he saw Gus and O'Hara standing on the stoop.

He waved them in.

"Have you talked to Lassiter?" were the first words out of O'Hara's mouth.

"No, why?"

"I can't get a hold of him," she confessed. "I got to thinking on my way over here that he might know where Shawn got to."

"You called him?"

She nodded her head. "He's not answering."

"Then I'm going to his house," Henry said as he grabbed his car keys, breezing past the two of them. Without saying anything they followed him, climbing into his truck, driving to Lassiter's house in an uncomfortable, anxious silence.

--------------------------------------

Lassiter looked toward the bedroom as he made his way down the stairs. Whoever was pounding on his front door desperately wanted his attention. He hated the idea of leaving Shawn upstairs alone when he felt the younger man was on the verge of saying something to do with his sudden personality change. He grumbled as he pulled open the door, shocked to see the trio standing on his porch.

"He's here," he said before any of them could ask him the one question burning on their minds. "And no, he's not up for talking."

"Why is here?" asked Gus, brow furrowed in question. "Better yet, why did you let him come here? Doesn't he drive you nuts?"

Lassiter explained how he found Shawn standing beside his car when he left work. "I couldn't turn him away," he said. "He looked…" The words would not come.

He ushered them away with promises to call Mr. Spencer if anything changed or if he managed to learn anything from Shawn, though he felt that it wasn't his place to say anything. Shawn was the one who would need to tell his father the secrets that he kept. He waited until they piled back into the truck before he closed the front door, making sure to slip the lock in place. He looked up the staircase wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into. Shawn…the psychic drove him crazy and not in a healthy way. He got under his skin, made him mad, pushed all the wrong buttons.

But he felt a need to help Shawn, an inner impulse he couldn't even begin to explain.

Trudging up the stairs he went to the guest bedroom where he'd left Shawn sitting on the bed when he heard the knocking on the door. He planned on trying a few questions to see if he might be able to get something out of Shawn but when he got back to the bedroom he stopped in the doorway, the scene before him causing him to halt. There sat Shawn on the bed, oblivious to Lassiter's presence, and he was crying. Lassiter had never seen Shawn cry, never even seen him so…what was the word he wanted? Every time he saw Shawn the younger man was usually doing something crazy, upbeat, smiling or at least flashing a coy look. Crying?

That's when it hit Lassiter like a line drive. He had what some might call an epiphany. Most of his days for the last couple of months he worked until the late hours of the night, then returned home falling into bed. He did the same thing every day and until now he failed to realize why he did it. Shawn crying made him realize right than and there that he had feelings for Shawn. Feelings that went beyond friendship.

Could he really _love_ Shawn?


	9. All I Ever Wanted

**Nine: All I Have Ever Wanted**

Lassiter awoke from a sound sleep, curious as to what could have roused him. He lay in bed for a few minutes not moving, not daring to even breathe loudly for fear that he might miss the sound, whatever it was. Then it came again. At first he wasn't sure what to make of it, then realized that the sound was coming from the guest bedroom down the hall. Throwing back the covers he made his way silently toward the room, wondering the whole time if he should just return to his bed.

He stopped outside the closed bedroom door, his hand on the doorknob. He suddenly realized that he was in way over his head. What the hell was he going to do when he opened the door? It didn't matter what awaited him on the other side. He'd never been the comforting kind, the one that people turned to when they needed a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen. What if he opened the door and only made matters worse instead of better? How the hell had he gotten into this position? Why did he let them talk him into paying that visit to Shawn?

That moment from earlier in the day, that moment of clarity when he thought that he loved Shawn, he didn't even want to think about it. Decided that it must have been some sort of lapse in judgment. There was no way in hell that he could possibly feel that way about someone that managed to get under his skin every second of every day. And yet…He sighed, pushing the door open.

Shawn lay in the bed, the blankets twisted constrictively around his legs. The young man was having a bad dream, that was easy to see. Should he wake him or let him sleep? He wasn't sure what to do in this situation. He wasn't sure what to do about anything lately, not since Shawn's return to the area. He thought about the cut as he made his way toward the bed, having mentally decided to rouse Shawn, there was blood on Shawn's t-shirt again. He should have pushed harder to get Shawn to go to the hospital.

Reaching out he gently shook Shawn, a hand placed on the young man's shoulder. Shawn moaned but did not awaken. Lassiter shook him a little harder, said his name. "Spencer, wake up, you're keeping me from getting any sleep. Get up."

Finally Shawn's eyes fluttered open, confusion clouding them until recognition dawned on him. "Lassiter," he whispered.

"You were having a bad dream," Lassiter pointed out. "And you're bleeding again, getting all over my sheets."

"Sorry," Shawn muttered, trying to free himself from the blankets. With a little help from Lassiter he managed to sit up on the bed, his legs finally free.

Lassiter stood his ground, arms crossed over his chest, glaring down at Shawn. "Why won't you let me take you to the hospital to get that damned thing stitched up? You're going to get a nasty infection."

"No, no hospital," Shawn shook his head. "Please."

"_Why not?"_ stressed Lassiter. He was tired of pussyfooting around the issue, whatever the hell it was. He wanted answers and he wanted them now. No more being elusive, no more letting Shawn dodge the truth. This could only go on for so long and he didn't intend to let it last beyond this night. "Give me a straight answer, Spencer. If you want to stay here tonight you have to give me an answer."

Something that looked clearly like fear flashed across Shawn's face, then he was standing on shaky legs. He went to walk around Lassiter, obviously having made up his mind to leave instead of giving any answers. Lassiter grabbed him by the arm. He wasn't going to give up so easily. It wasn't the sort of thing that he did, giving up. No matter how dire the situation or troublesome the people involved he never backed down. Unless of course the chief gave him orders and even then he wasn't always pleased to follow them.

He locked eyes with Shawn. "Did you honestly think that I would let you leave? Why can't you just give me an answer?"

For a few minutes they stood there in silence, Lassiter holding onto Shawn's arm, their eyes locked onto one another's. Then Shawn looked away, his eyes falling to the floor. "I'm sorry, Lassiter, but there are things that…No, I can't do this, don't want to do this, not ever. Please let me go."

"Give me something, anything, Spencer," Lassiter continued to push.

"You want something?" Shawn echoed, not looking up from whatever he'd chosen to focus on.

"That would be nice."

"Fine," Shawn said, his voice taking on a different tone that made Lassiter pay even closer attention. "When I first met you I thought you were an ass, a real thorn in the side type of person. You never seemed to have any fun with your job, always doing things by the book, never wanting help or admitting when you might need it. But then I got to know you, got to really see who you were as a person and I realized a lot of things about you. I won't take the time to list them now because they would probably bore you to death. You wanted something so I am giving you that," Shawn said suddenly looking at Lassiter.

For some reason Lassiter felt a chill travel down his spine. A sign of something good or something bad?

"No matter how many bad words you spout in my direction. No matter how often you yell at me. It doesn't matter the nasty things you say or do, none of it changes how I feel," Shawn spoke, never breaking eye contact with the homicide detective. "Somehow I have fallen head over heels in love with you. Somehow…" He shook his head. "Somehow you have become all I have ever wanted."

What the hell was he supposed to say to that? Lassiter stood there like a fool. It felt like the moment lasted forever but in reality it was less than a minute. Shawn managed to disengage himself from Lassiter's grip. He headed toward the open bedroom door.

Lassiter found his voice. "Where are you going?"

"To the bathroom," grumbled Shawn not bothering to look back.

He let him go. _You have become all I have ever wanted._ The words echoed through his mind. No one, not even his ex-wife, had ever said anything remotely that sweet to him before and now, the one time someone feels that way about him it turns out to be a man. Lassiter never once thought of himself capable of dating another man but now he wasn't so sure. He wasn't rightly sure of anything anymore. It was like his entire world had been dumped upside down with the return of Shawn. _You have become all I have ever wanted._


	10. Already Gone

**Ten: Already Gone  
**

"Dammit," Lassiter cursed as he made his way down the stairs in record time. How could he have been such a fool to believe that things might be getting better? He was hoping his babysitting gig involving Shawn was nearly over. And yet, like most of the other things in his life, it got complicated. It pissed him off when he woke up to find that Shawn was gone, disappearing into the night. He had waited patiently for Shawn to return from the bathroom and left the young man falling back into bed. When he awoke he expected to find the younger man still in bed or at least hanging around the house.

But the bed was made, empty, no sign of Shawn anywhere.

He cursed under his breath as he gathered his badge and gun, never leaving the house without either one of them. He was in a suit ready for work knowing all the while that he wasn't going to be seeing the precinct. The chief made it perfectly clear that he was to spend a few days dealing with the issue of Shawn. Normally he would have put up a fight but he knew how much she liked the fake psychic so he let her get her way. And what could it possibly hurt? Shawn may have been a thorn in his side but even he had to admit that the guy had a good track record when it came to solving cases.

As he went out the front door he tried to think of all the places he should search in order to find Shawn. He made a call to Mr. Spencer while sliding behind the wheel of his sedan. The older man hadn't seen his son since finding him the day he returned. O'Hara promised to keep an eye out for him while she worked; even passed the word along to Buzz who would be doing patrols throughout the city. Lastly he called Gus to see if perhaps Shawn had finally started acting normal and gotten around to speaking to his best friend. No luck there, though Gus did suggest that he run by the old Psych office. It was still theirs but not currently open.

The Psych office it was. He made it across town in record time, wondering all the while what the hell he was doing. Why was he suddenly devoting so much time to helping Shawn, the one man that pissed him off on so many occasions? It used to be that he couldn't stand being in the same room with Shawn now he was running around town like a nut trying to find the man. And he hated to admit that he wanted nothing more than to find Shawn. Ever since learning that Shawn had feelings for him he couldn't stop thinking about the somewhat immature, impulsive yet always chipper man. The words spoke last night only made matters worse.

_You have become all I have ever wanted._

If nothing else he planned to spend the next day or two sorting out how he felt about Shawn, getting to the bottom of his feelings. There was something he never thought he would be trying to accomplish in his life. Especially in relation to Shawn.

Nearing the Psych office he pulled over at a café that he knew happened to be one of Shawn's favorites. Little did anyone know but back when Shawn entered the picture Lassiter did a little digging, learned whatever he could about the man. And it didn't exactly take him long to learn that Shawn had a thing for pineapples. He wasn't a big fan of the fruit himself but shelled out a few bucks to purchase a pineapple smoothie. Then he strolled down the sidewalk to the Psych office. He had a pretty good feeling that he would find Shawn lurking in the place, probably reminiscing.

His hunch turned out to be true.

"Are you thinking of returning to work?" Lassiter said as he entered the darkened room.

Shawn ignored him.

"I bought this for you," he said placing the smoothie on the desk. "Pineapple."

"Thanks."

He walked around the office picking up various things, looking at them before putting them back down. How long had it been since he last set foot in this office? There were still things written on a chalkboard pertaining to a case they'd been working when Shawn up and left town. Suddenly a light when on in Lassiter's head. He turned to look at Shawn, hands on his hips. It pleased him to see that Shawn was sipping the smoothie.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I…sometimes you really get under my skin and maybe I should learn to control my anger better but…that's all in the past, okay? I'm sorry for yelling at you that day, Spencer."

While he talked Shawn stared at him with eyes wide. "Lassiter apologizing, there's something one never expected."

"Heh, seems to be a lot of that sort of thing going 'round," Lassiter pointed out, settling on a corner of Shawn's desk. "Look at all the time I'm devoting to you and I'm sure you don't need me to tell you how I feel about you."

"No," the word came out somewhat like a grunt. "You don't."

"Shawn, listen to me," Lassiter suddenly said.

He put up his hand. "Don't worry about it, Lassiter." He stood, leaving the half consumed pineapple smoothie on the desk. "I honestly don't know why I came back here. What the hell was I thinking? You are right to point out that I am taking up your valuable time. Guess that's something that I have always done. I'm annoying. Look at what I've done to Gus. He had a good job working at that pharmaceutical company but I made him spend more time with me here. I complicated your job on a day to day basis. Probably made you feel…I don't know what, but it must not have felt good to have me constantly finding the answers. And I know that my father has never once been proud of me."

"Shawn-"

The psychic took a few steps back, putting more distance between him and the detective, getting closer to the door. "No, I understand perfectly, detective. Leaving may not have worked out the way that I planned but it seems that it may have been the best idea to begin with. I'm a disappointment, a nuisance. I never should have come back."

"Shut up," Lassiter barked, the tone of his voice actually making Shawn jump. He closed the distance between them, grabbing Shawn by the shoulders. He wasn't sure where the sudden anger came from but he was willing to run with it, even though he might risk making matters worse. Hadn't it been his anger that got them to this point in the first place? "What the hell happened to you, Shawn? Where is the guy that used to have a positive look on the world? It never used to bother you that I yelled. You never really tried that hard to get your father's approval. Why is it suddenly so important? What the hell happened to you while you were gone, Shawn? Why won't you tell me?"


	11. Save You

**Eleven: Save You**

He walked along the beach with his arms crossed over his chest. He was trying to figure out where to go next. Home was out of the question. Surely by now Lassiter had called his father and the two had spoken at great lengths. His father would be waiting for him, perhaps even expecting him. Getting into the house would be easy but getting out again wouldn't be. Unfortunately, his motorcycle was a the house so if he planned on hitting the road again he would need to stop by, maybe in the middle of the night.

Stopping he looked at over the expanse of the ocean. When had it come to this point? When had his life gotten so bad that he couldn't even bring himself to go home and face his father? For the umpteenth time he chastised himself for leaving that day all those months ago. What a fool he had been to just pack his bag and leave without saying a word. Of course, he'd grown tired of all the things going on here in Santa Barbara. Everything that he said a few minutes ago were how he truly felt. He was a nuisance, bothersome, a pain in the ass to the people in his life. He never should have bothered to come back. They were better off without him.

Someone stumbled into him, apologized, then continued on their way. Shawn bit his bottom lip to keep from crying out in pain. The wound in his side felt warm and sticky with fresh blood. Lassiter kept telling him to go to the hospital and have the thing stitched up but he couldn't bring himself to set foot in a hospital. Not again. He was tired of them. He was also tired of all the pain. Every minute of every day there was some source of pain. The most constant was the low throb in his chest. Sometimes it hurt to breathe, and it had nothing to do with the open wound. He idly wondered how long he had before it grew infected. If his chest wasn't the source of the pain then it was one of the infernal headaches that plagued him.

When it rained he felt something in his right wrist and his knee would ache.

He remained on the beach for a few hours admiring the world around him, thinking about where his life had gone in the last few months. The more he thought about it the more depressed he grew. Grumbling, he started walking, heading nowhere in particular. Eventually he noticed that a few people were giving him strange looks. Glancing down he noticed that once again the wound in his side had made itself know, a patch of red visible on his shirt. Would it ever completely heal?

Did he care?

Suddenly he stopped, his heart hammering in his chest cavity. He almost forgot to breathe as wave after wave of panic washed over him. The intense fear nearly made him choke. He looked around, ducking into a nearby store, pleasantly surprised to find that it was actually a pharmacy. A sign of some kind? Strolling down the aisles he gathered a few things, then approached the check out counter. The cashier gave him a strange look.

"You're bleeding."

"Thanks for pointing out the obvious," grumbled Shawn as he paid for his few items. After the purchase he went into the bathroom to do what he could for the wound in his side. It wasn't exactly the easiest thing in the world but he managed to get it cleaned and dressed. He slipped the bottle of aspirin into his pocket for later. On the way back through the pharmacy he prayed that he could go without a problem, stepping into the crowd of people on the sidewalk doing his best to blend in.

He couldn't do this, not after what he saw minutes ago. It was asking too much. He finally made up his mind on what he was going to do, where he was going to go.

---------------------------------------------------------

Lassiter waited impatiently for the light to change. He had spent the last few hours driving all over the city in hopes of tracking down Shawn. He couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible was waiting just around the corner. He did get a call from Buzz passing along the report that someone spotted a man with a bloody shirt at a pharmacy. By the time he swung by the pharmacy in question, though, Shawn was long gone. And he hadn't had a lead since. It was nearly midnight.

He couldn't dodge calls from Mr. Spencer the rest of the night.

As one last ditch effort he was planning on returning to the Psych office. Shawn had been there toward the beginning of the day so maybe he could figure out something from there. Surely he could find a clue to Shawn's whereabouts, past or present, if he went through things at the office. He already spoke with Gus who gave him the okay to search the property. Shawn was keeping a big secret. He had to keep it somewhere. Lassiter figured that Mr. Spencer searched the boy's room the first chance that he got. Had he found anything he would have shared it. Of course, since he was dodging the man's phone calls he could be missing out on something.

Still, he wasn't ready to tell Mr. Spencer that he lost Shawn.

Pulling into the parking lot of the Psych office the feeling in the pit of his stomach grew worse, a hardened stone of fear that told him something was wrong. It was something that he experienced every now and then when working a case. Some people referred to it as a guy feeling or instinct. He usually did his best to ignore it because in his line of work he needed to follow the evidence as well as protocol. Not everybody could be Shawn Spencer. However, this time no matter how hard he tried he just could not shake the feeling.

And it only seemed to grow worse as he walked closer to the entrance.

He pushed open the door, standing in the entryway frozen in place. Suddenly the office seemed like the creepiest place in the world. The shadows of the corners looked darker, somehow menacing. Lassiter shook his head, laughing at himself. It was just a building and nothing more. He was a big time detective. He dealt with dangerous criminals on a day to day basis. He was not afraid of the dark.

"Shawn?" he called into the darkness. Then he noticed the subtle glow coming from the room where Shawn and Gus kept their desks. That feeling grow more intense. He absentmindedly reached for the holstered gun on his hip, his palm grazing the cool metal. "Shawn?"

When he stepped into the room his heart stopped. "Oh god, Shawn."

He raced across the room, falling to the floor at Shawn's side. His heart broke at the sight before him. The first thing he did was to check Shawn for a pulse, sighing with relief when he found one. Slow but still there. He whipped the cell phone out of his pocket, dialing the three numbers he knew by heart. He told the dispatcher at 911 that he needed an ambulance right away, even gave her his badge number and told her to put a rush on it. As soon as he could he dropped the phone, hanging up on the lady.

"Shawn," he said, patting Shawn's cheek. "Wake up, buddy. Come on, Spencer, now is not the time for jokes. Get up, Spencer!"


	12. Long Shot

**Twelve: Long Shot**

Lassiter restlessly paced the hallway, one hand on his hip, the other massaging the back of his neck. He couldn't remember the last time that he found himself in the emergency room. He counted himself lucky for that, figuring it was a good thing he didn't spend a lot of time in the hospital. The smell always managed to get to him, the sickly sterile smell that overwhelmed the senses. And the people, all the crying and talking, sometimes the shouting. Some of the people sitting in the chairs waiting to see a doctor didn't seem obviously hurt while others were holding towels and other materials against bleeding wounds. He often thought the term 'emergency room' to be silly since most cases involved a degree of waiting before being seen by a doctor.

Thankfully the doctors on call decided that Shawn's predicament warranted immediate attention. It also might have helped that he was a homicide detective, his status giving the situation a touch more importance.

As he paced he ignored the stares of those that had been waiting a while, the people wondering what made his friend so special. By this point he'd given up any hope in getting a hold of anyone else. Suddenly nobody seemed to know what the hell a ringing phone sounded like or how to go about answering it. He swore under his breath as he tried one last futile time to get a hold of Mr. Spencer. If anyone should be here it should be Shawn's father, not him.

And yet he wanted to be nowhere else. He knew that things were bad with Shawn; saw it clearly the minute he walked into the guy's room the other day. However, he never expected things to go this far, it never once crossed his mind that it might be _this_ bad. He couldn't help wondering if perhaps the argument they had earlier in the day drove him the rest of the way, just shoved him right over the edge. Of course it did. How come he couldn't just learn to keep his mouth shut? Why was he always pushing and yelling and basically bringing Shawn down?

He stopped pacing, closing his eyes for a moment, doing his best to block out the world. All he saw was Shawn lying on the floor of the Psych office, still, unconscious. The wail of an arriving ambulance shook him, reminded him of the ride here listening to the paramedic as the man worked on Shawn. The more he thought about the younger man lying there like he was already dead the more upset he grew until he was tearing down the hallway. Bursting through the bathroom door he picked the first unoccupied stall he could find, losing what little food was in his stomach.

He flushed, then went to the sink to wash his hands. A mirror ran the length of the wall and he caught a glimpse of himself.

"You look like hell," he said to his reflection, leaning on the sink. "What the hell is going on, ole boy? There used to be a time when you could care less about one Shawn Spencer, now you're getting physically ill over the idea of him dying?" Lassiter shook his head. It didn't make sense, but then again, what did these last few days?

Fearing he might miss the doctor he quickly washed his hands, splashed a bit of water on his face, dried, then went back to pacing in the waiting room. Every five minutes or so he checked his watch, wondering how long it would take before he knew how Shawn was doing, before he could go see the man that was drastically changing his life whether he liked it or not.

The sudden sound of his cell phone ringing caused him to jump. Mr. Spencer. A lump formed in his throat as he went to answer the call. What the hell was he going to tell the man?

------------------------------------------------------

Henry raced into the ER like a mad man, his heart beating frantically. He'd been outside doing a few things around the house, unable to sleep knowing that Shawn had managed to get away from Lassiter. When he got back in he noticed the mass amount of missed calls on his cell phone so he quickly called Lassiter back, hoping for good news. He wasn't expecting to hear what the detective told him. He didn't want to hear that Shawn was in the emergency room. That was every parent's worst nightmare. Worry threw him into action, telling Lassiter that he would be at the hospital in a matter of minutes, the idea of asking what happened never crossing his mind.

Now as he searched the ER for Lassiter he began to think all kinds of horrible thoughts, none of which he wanted to be true. What could have possibly brought them to this point? It wasn't the first time that he ended up in this place. Shawn wasn't exactly a careful little boy. He got into trouble like everyone else. And there was that incident with the motorcycle, something he was still kicking himself over because Shawn could have been seriously hurt and he hadn't even known about it. Not until Shawn told him the next time they saw each other.

Well, that wasn't going to happen this time. Not if he could help it.

"Mr. Spencer," Lassiter called from across the room. Henry didn't like the way that Lassiter looked. The usually cool and calm detective looked frazzled, upset. Could it be that learning Shawn's secret was changing his view of Shawn?

He wasted no time getting to Lassiter's side. "What the hell is going on? Is he okay? Please tell me he's okay. Where are Gus and Juliet?"

"Slow down," Lassiter tried to sooth him. "I haven't been able to get a hold of Gus or Juliet. I've left messages for both of them, though, so they might arrive at any moment."

"What is wrong with Shawn?" demanded Henry on the verge of throttling the detective. he hadn't felt this way in a long time.

Lassiter took him by the arm and led him away from the bustling ER to a more private location. Why would he do that unless it was something serious? Was there something that he didn't want a bunch of strangers to overhear? At this rate Henry began to worry that he was going to have a heart attack before he learned what happened to Shawn. What if his son was…No, he wasn't even going to go down that road. No way in hell.

"He's okay, Mr. Spencer," Lassiter started out. "Well, I should clarify that by saying he will live."

"And what exactly is the difference?"

Lassiter looked at him, his face serious, his eyes wary. "Shawn tried to take his own life. I found him lying on the floor of the Psych office with an empty bottle of aspirin. He downed the whole thing. Still had the receipt in his pocket."

Henry shook his head, not believing what he was hearing. "No, Shawn wouldn't…he's not that kind of person."

"He hasn't been himself since he got back," Lassiter quickly pointed out. He sighed, his shoulders slumping. "That isn't the only thing. The doctors did a full check, Mr. Spencer. I think we might have gotten a glimpse at why Shawn has changed so drastically."

"Stop dancing around and give it to me then."

"When they x-rayed him to judge the depth and damage of the wound in his side they found…" Lassiter still couldn't believe the conversation with the doctor and now he had to recount all the information to Shawn's father. "Shawn has three broken ribs, lots of ugly bruises around his chest. The doctor got curious so he took the liberty of doing a few more tests. According to him Shawn broke his left wrist within the last month and there are signs that he might have been hit in the head at some point. They detected an area where they believe there was a hairline fracture in his skull."

Henry took the news in stride, reminding himself the entire time that Shawn was going to live, he was going to be alright. He would be able to see his boy, hear him, touch him. He licked his lips, his throat dry. "A car accident, maybe?"

Lassiter shrugged, then shook his head. "That is exactly what I thought at first. After conversing with the doctor and a few other people, though, I don't believe that anymore. I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because the bleeding wound in his side was created by a knife. It's a stab wound," Lassiter dropped the bomb. "Someone did this to your son, Mr. Spencer. Someone seriously hurt Shawn."


	13. Impossible

**Thirteen: Impossible**

He couldn't believe that this was happening, though it should have made sense what with everything else that was going on. He handed her a drink, then settled on the sofa beside her. They had heard the news, Gus getting it from Henry while Juliet heard it from Lassiter. They wanted to venture to the hospital, see Shawn to make sure that he was okay with their own eyes. But that's when more bad news got passed their way. In a moment while conscious Shawn told the doctors that he did not want to see anyone. They had to obey his wishes; there was nothing they could do about it.

Unable to see his friend Gus spent a day trying to work but ended up getting sent home early because he just could not concentrate. He hadn't been home for more than five minutes before someone knocked on his door. That someone happened to be Juliet. Seeing her standing outside his apartment made his heart summersault. Shawn wasn't the only one harboring a secret. Ever since he could remember, probably from the first time he laid eyes on her, Gus had wanted to make a move on Juliet. As usual Shawn picked up on his feelings right away so every once in a while they would commiserate about their mutual unrequited love.

And then there she was standing outside his apartment with tears in his eyes. It broke his heart.

Within in the past hour they talked circles around the issue, then started touching upon other aspects of their lives, revealing little secrets about themselves, confiding like it was something they did all the time. Gus really hoped that something would happen between them but he wasn't comfortable about it happening at the expense of Shawn. He would be the first to admit that Shawn could be a royal pain in the ass but when it come down to push and shove, Shawn always went to bat in defense of the people he cared about.

"I feel so hopeless," Juliet suddenly muttered her voice full of despair. "I hate sitting her thinking that someone would do…that someone…" Her voice broke, more tears appearing on her cheeks. She quickly wiped them away. "How can a person take a bright light like Shawn and do…whatever it was they did to him? I mean, I see horrible things every day but…" She shook her head, eyes closed momentarily.

He hesitated, then placed a hand on her shoulder. "I know, Juliet, I feel the same way. And it breaks my heart that he won't talk to me. We have been the best of friends for practically our entire lives. We tell each other everything or at least we used to. It seems weird to me that he suddenly doesn't even want to see me."

She surprised him by placing a hand on his cheek. "He'll come around, Gus, of that I am sure. You forget, I have watched the two of you for the past few years now. Shawn loves you, not the way he loves Carlton, but I am sure you know what I mean. And what is up with him loving Carlton, anyway?" she inquired, going off on a side road. "How anyone can love that man…"

"You know Shawn," Gus actually smiled. It felt good, felt right. "He loves to do the impossible, loves to catch people off guard."

"I hope this works out for him."

"So do I," agreed Gus. "And I hope he returns to us soon. I don't much like the new Shawn."

----------------------------------------------------------

"Go home, Carlton," the chief said as she came out of her office to find him still sitting at his desk. His shift had ended more than a few hours ago and she'd told him to leave once before. It irked her to see him still at his desk. Though she could understand, perhaps, what he was going through. She may not have been the boy's biggest fan but even she was saddened by the sudden change in Shawn. And it had nothing to do with the fact that he couldn't help solve the open cases currently bombarding her precinct.

"Not yet, I'm not done," he mumbled, never taking his eyes off the computer screen.

She walked over, her heels clicking on the tile floor, and shut off the monitor forcing him to look at her. For the first time she saw the torment on his face. Henry had told her about Shawn's love for the detective, a surprise on some level. Shawn always liked Carlton, she knew that, but she had not realized it went that deep. Upon hearing the news, learning that they were going to tell Carlton, she worried how the detective would handle it. This, however, was the last scenario she expected.

"Working yourself to death isn't going to make him better Carlton," she told him softly. "Go home, get some sleep. Go to the hospital tomorrow. Something tells me that he'd be willing to see you."

Carton shook his head, reached for the monitor. She grabbed hold of his wrist, stopped him. "I have to finish, then I will sleep."

"What exactly are you doing?"

"Searching hospital records," he admitted to her. "Someone had to have treated him for the broken wrist, the fractured skull. But no matter how much I search I cannot find a damned thing."

"He probably went in for care under an assumed name," she offered casually. "After all, no one called Henry to inform him of his son's condition. Now please, Carlton, go home."

He shook his head, ignoring the fact that he felt tired, exhausted, desperately in need of sleep. "Not until I find something, even a glimmer. There has to be something out there."

"It's impossible, Carlton."

"Only if I let it be."


	14. No One Will Listen

**Fourteen: No One Will Listen**

Shawn used his charm and wit to convince the doctor to release him early. He hailed a cab, having bummed a few bucks from a nurse, and rode in silence to his apartment. He hadn't seen the place in nearly a year but wasn't surprised to find it as though he walked out the door just yesterday. Should he thank his father or Gus for keeping the place in one piece? He turned on one lamp, letting the warm glow push the shadows to the corners of the room. Then he wandered around aimlessly, unsure of what to do next. He hurt all over, mentally, physically, emotionally. A window had been left open in his bedroom and he could hear the sounds of the city outside. Shutting the window he settled on the edge of the bed, happy to be left in silence, in darkness.

He thought about where his life was going, where it had been. He thought about the fact that he tried to take his own life. What the hell had he been thinking? Since when had he fallen so far that the only way out of the problem was to end his life? By now he'd heard it all from the nurses and doctors that it had been Lassiter who found him. Should that make him happy? Should he feel some glimmer of happiness knowing that it had been the object of his affection that helped to save his life? Thinking about Lassiter brought with it a whole new wave of pain.

Without really thinking it through he went to his closet, pulling open the door and fishing around on the top shelf. It took less than a minute for him to locate the shoebox, right where he left it. As he pulled it down from the shelf he wondered if it had been rifled through in all the months he was gone. Nobody knew about it, at least that he knew of. Perhaps Gus went snooping through his things. No, that wasn't like Gus, more like his father. Not that it really mattered all that much to him. He shuffled into the kitchen, chucked the box and all its contents into the trashcan. Then retracing his steps he returned to the bedroom, climbing into bed and pulling the covers up over his head.

He felt lost.

Alone.

----------------------------------------------

Lassiter parked along the curb, cursing under his breath as he went through the motions of locking the car and other mundane actions. After being kicked out of the precinct by the chief with help from Buzz and two other officers, he swung by the hospital to have a word with Shawn's doctor. Then grew angry when he learned that Shawn left earlier, about an hour or two before he arrived. Nobody called him. He thought about giving the doctor an earful, then figured it would be a waste of time. He needed to get over to Shawn's apartment before the young man did something regretful.

He managed to save him once, no guarantee that he'd be there in time to save Shawn again.

He took the stairs up to Shawn's place two at a time. When he knocked on the door it swung open freely, worrying him. All kinds of images ran through his mind, what sort of things he might see when he stepped into the apartment. Blood, ransacked furniture, one horrible scene after another. He nearly threw up at the thought of finding Shawn…Thankfully when he opened the door the place seemed to be fine, the soft glow of a lamp illuminating a portion of the living room.

Having been in a situation similar to this he headed in the direction of the bedroom. Something sticking out of the little trashcan in the kitchen caught his attention though. A shoebox. Curious he plucked it from the can and pulled off the lid. What he find inside really surprised him, even shocked him. Placing the box on a nearby counter he slowly went through the contents. Photos of him taken while he wasn't aware, almost like Shawn had been stalking him. Oddly enough most of the photos were of him _and_ Shawn. Who was the photographer? Gus or O'Hara? Underneath those he found a few newspaper articles that mentioned him in conjunction with solved crimes. There were a few nick-knacks that went missing from his desk over the last few years, small things such as a pen and the like.

Not wanting to see anymore he put the lid back on. On some level he should have been freaked out but instead he found it charming, interesting. Shawn _really_ had a thing for him. But why throw the box in the trash? Had he done something to hurt Shawn, something to change the way Shawn felt about him?

Wait, why the hell did he care? One minute he thought he might feel the same way, the next he was thinking how crazy he was to even be thinking of Shawn in that way.

Putting the box out of his mind he went to the bedroom to make sure that Shawn was okay. He found the young man lying in bed, his back to the door. "You should have called. I would have given you a ride home."

"Go away."

"No. Why haven't you figured it out, Shawn? I'm not going anywhere," Lassiter said as he walked further into the room. "Isn't this what you wanted, to have me around all the time? Isn't this a dream come true?"

"Fuck off," Shawn said, his voice on the edge of anger.

Lassiter walked around the bed. "Not gonna happen, buddy, not after that little stunt you pulled."

Shawn's next move surprised Lassiter. The young tortured man threw back the covers and jumped out of the bed, grabbing handfuls of Lassiter's shirt and shoving the detective back against the wall. "Why the hell won't you listen to me?"

"I _am_ listening," Lassiter said.

"Then why are you still here?"

"Because I care about you, Shawn," Lassiter blurted out.


	15. Here Comes Goodbye

**Fifteen: Here Comes Goodbye**

He stopped in the stairwell; unsure of what he was doing, confused beyond belief. After muttering those words in Shawn's bedroom he thought something else might happen, though he couldn't exactly say what he expected. Maybe for Shawn to finally come 'round and tell him what the hell happened in those eight months that he was gone. He needed to get to the truth, the dark secret that caused the once infuriating fake psychic to turned into such a broken, damaged person. Only that didn't happen. He could still see the scene clear in his mind, probably because it took place less than five minutes ago.

Shawn backed off.

The one thing he did not expect to happen and yet it had, right before his eyes. When Shawn finally managed to find his voice the words weren't those that Lassiter wanted to hear, though what he wanted to hear he couldn't say. Nothing made sense, not now, not yesterday, probably not tomorrow. Ever since learning Shawn's secret and then seeing the man so lost he couldn't help feeling something, a stirring of emotion he hadn't felt in ages. How could he possibly be in love with Shawn? Was he in love with Shawn? How come he couldn't sort out his feelings, find the answer he so desperately sought? When he was away from Shawn and he thought about the possibility of loving the other man he felt sick, maybe even a little mad at himself for even entertaining the thought.

But things changed the second he found himself in Shawn's company.

He fought the urge to pull Shawn close in a warming embrace, to tell him that everything would be okay and whisper loving words in his ear. When he laid eyes on Shawn all he wanted to do was to put that smile back on his face. He wanted to hear him laugh more than anything. He wanted to see Shawn happy and have the knowledge of knowing he made it happen.

What the hell was wrong with him?

He started down the stairs, stopping at the bottom landing, looking up in the general direction of Shawn's apartment. _Please leave. Please just leave me alone for one day. That's all I ask. Leave me alone. _The words echoed in his mind, still so fresh. He didn't want to push, he'd been doing that since getting involved and look where it had led, so he willingly left with the promise to return the following night when exactly twenty-four hours passed. In that time what would Shawn do? Would he still be here when Lassiter returned? Would he be okay?

Sleep, he needed to go home and crash. A few hours of sweet oblivion would help make that twenty-four hours pass by quicker. He turned, heading out of the apartment complex, bumping into a man on his way out the door. Uttering an apology the man never even bothered to look back, clearly intent on reaching his destination. Muttering a few nasty words under his breath Lassiter headed for his car.

Strolling across the parking lot he thought for a moment that it might be a nice idea if he could find someone to sit down and talk to, someone that wouldn't freak out on him when he shared his worries and confusion. A second party might be able to help him understand his feelings, get his thoughts sorted out. But who could he talk to? Definitely not Gus, the two of them had never been close in any way. He crossed O'Hara off the list as well, figuring that she might go all school-girl giggly on him and that was definitely something he did not want to deal with. Preferably he wanted to talk with someone that knew Shawn, understood how frustrating he could be and there was only one person that Lassiter could think of.

No way in hell was he going to Mr. Spencer with his problems. Not in a million years. It wasn't going to happen.

Lassiter slipped the key into the lock, pulled open the door and slid behind the wheel all the while having second thoughts. Could he approach Mr. Spencer about the issue? After all the former cop was well informed of how his son felt about Lassiter so maybe it wouldn't be such a bad idea. Then again, it might be a tad too awkward. What if he came to the conclusion that he wanted nothing to do with Shawn? Who's to say what Mr. Spencer might do then?

He was about to slip the key into the ignition and head home when he saw someone come running out of the building. Lassiter instantly recognized him as the guy he bumped into on the way out. Something about the man set off a warning bell in his head and he quickly forgot about heading home. All he wanted to do was get back to Shawn's apartment and make sure that Shawn was perfectly okay.

Jogging across the parking lot he raced through the lobby, then took the stairs two at a time, making a beeline for the door he had closed moments ago, the soft click of the lock sliding into place clear in his mind. When he approached the now open door he slowed to a walk, pushing the door open with one hand and ignoring the sense of déjà vu that he experienced. Earlier in the evening he found himself in a somewhat similar place and he expected the worst when he pushed that door open to find that things were okay.

The same could not be said this time around.

Shawn was on his knees cradling his bleeding left arm, a bruise already darkening the skin around his right eye. Lassiter was instantly struck by the sight of Shawn in tears, having never seen such emotion from the young man before. Without saying anything he entered the apartment, falling to the floor before Shawn and doing what he'd been dying to do all this time. He wrapped his arms around Shawn and pulled him close. Quietly he held him while battling a wave of emotions; anger, fear, worry, confusion. Perhaps in that moment he finally understood how he really felt about Shawn.


	16. Close

**Sixteen: Close**

He put the finishing touches on the bandage, wondering if it had been such a good idea to avoid a trip to the hospital. He wasn't a trained paramedic or medical doctor, how the hell was he supposed to know if the cut would need stitches or not? At least he knew the basics of first aid, cleaning the wound and dressing it much the way he had with the cut in Shawn's side a few days ago. The feeling of déjà vu actually made him feel nauseous. How many more times was he going to find himself in a similar situation before he got to the bottom of what was going on?

Of course, he might actually get somewhere if he bothered to ask any questions. For the last few minutes the two of them had been enveloped by silence. Shawn was either in shock or trying to figure out how to make an escape while Lassiter went about taking care of what looked like another knife wound. He fought down the urge to go racing out of the apartment to his unmarked car and making a report. What good would it have done anyway? Try as he might he could not remember much about the guy he met mere minutes before the attack. It was like someone erased all the important details from his mind. Talk about frustrating.

Now that the wound was clean he let Shawn's hand slip from his grasp. Somehow he managed to convince Shawn to sit on the couch, getting him up off the floor. He sat across from him on the coffee table and throughout the application of first aid he ignored the one million and one questions running through his mind. He was used to asking any and all questions that popped into his head; it was part of his job as a detective. Without questions there were no answers and without answers the picture never became clear. All this time he'd been afraid of pushing Shawn too hard but now he was starting to think he _needed_ to push hard, get the important answers.

Right then and there he made a personal promise not to leave Shawn's side for even a moment until he got the inside scoop on what the hell was going on.

"Do you want to explain what just happened or is this another one of those things you're going to scrape under the rug and hope it's forgotten?"

Shawn looked at him, no emotion on his face.

"This is bullshit, Spencer," grumbled Lassiter, clenching one hand into a fist. "How the hell do you expect anyone to help you when you won't even talk about what happened? I am not a fucking mind reader."

"I didn't ask for your help," Shawn muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Lassiter didn't even try to hide the surprise that registered on his face. "You didn't ask for help? Well pardon the fuck out of me then. I guess we have all been misreading the signs." He pointed a finger at Shawn's chest. "Whatever you found when you left wasn't what you wanted or you wouldn't have come back here. And I believe that you came back here because it's home. Going home means finding safety, there is comfort in familiarity. You came here because you wanted help. Why else make your father's house the first stop, especially when you could have just come here to your place? Don't even get me started on the whole suicide attempt. Trying to take your life is always a big cry for help. How many times do I have to tell you that I'm here to help, Spencer, before you get it through your thick head?"

For a few minutes Shawn said nothing making Lassiter think that he might have been a bit harsh. He couldn't help it, though, something about the other man always brought out the worst in him. If that was true then how could he be feeling the way he did, thinking that he might actually _love_ Shawn? It made no sense. Then again, nothing did lately. He was trying to think of a way to apologize without actually apologizing when Shawn suddenly stood, heading toward the far wall where a window looked out at the city. Should he worry about Shawn trying to jump? The simple fact that he was asking himself that question gave him a good spook. This was Shawn for crying out loud. The man was crazy but not _that_ crazy.

"Spencer…"

"What you said in the bedroom, did you mean it?" Shawn's voice was so soft that Lassiter could have easily misunderstood him.

He got up, standing a few feet behind Shawn. "To be honest, I don't know. I won't lie to you, Spencer. When I was informed of your feelings for me it took me by surprise. Since then nothing has been clear to me. One minute I think that I might possibly feel the same way but then I find you aggravating. There is one thing that I know for certain and that is that I will do anything to make things better. But you have to let me in, Shawn," he said, opting to use Shawn's first name. He was almost always calling him Spencer so maybe it was time to change that practice.

Shawn turned to face him. "I don't…it…" He shook his head, sighing, shoulders slumping.

Lassiter figured that it was time he play the card hidden up his sleeve. "I think I already know what is going on here." For a fleeting second he saw the fear flash in Shawn's eyes. "There is something in my car that I would like to get. Is it okay if I go down and get it? Will you be fine here for a minute or two?"

Shawn hesitated, then slowly nodded his head. Wondering if he should really be leaving the apartment Lassiter headed out at a brisk pace. He made short order of the stairs ever watchful for suspicious people, though he highly doubted that the mystery man would return to strike a second time in the same night, after all they had bumped into each other. The guy might be worried about Lassiter making an ID or something like that. Whatever kept the maniac away from the building, he didn't care, as long as Shawn wasn't hurt again. Reaching his car in record time he pulled open the driver's side door, reached across the seat and snatched a folder off the passenger seat. Then he was quickly retracing his steps.

Nothing happened in the time that he was gone. Nobody arrived to administer more pain to Shawn. In fact, Shawn was standing in the exact same place looking as though he hadn't moved a muscle. Suddenly his drive to confront Shawn about the past few months began to waver. He was about to open a can of worms and didn't know how Shawn would react. Things could go well or they could end up horribly. He really did not want to cause Shawn any more pain but in the long run he knew this was the right move to make so he steeled his spine.

He held up the file so that Shawn could see it. "That first night in the hospital the ER doctor gave me a full run down of your injuries. Got me thinking, what could have caused such an array of injuries? All of which would have to be treated at some hospital." Was that fear burning in Shawn's eyes? Was he trembling the slightest bit? "Maybe I was crazy to think I could track down some information what with the mass amount of hospitals in this country but I had at least one clue to work with; the cut in your side. It wasn't that old, still fresh, so the time line suggested that you were either somewhere else in California all this time or in one of the surrounding states."

Shawn looked like he might be sick at any moment. Lassiter figured it was a good thing he was standing between Shawn and the door.

"I tracked down the records," Lassiter finally said. He opened the folder, pulling out a piece of paper. "An assumed name to keep your father from being notified of your injuries, specifically the head wound. What bothered me about this report is that you were brought in unconscious, which means that a second party drove you to the hospital or called the ambulance and filled out the necessary forms."

"So?"

Lassiter dropped the file on the coffee table. "Who hurt you, Shawn?"

"No one," Shawn shook his head denying the truth. "It was an accident."

"Yeah, and I'm sure that every time it happened he swore it would never happen again," scoffed Lassiter, his anger starting to slip through. "Dammit, Spencer, I see the result of domestic violence when nothing is done to stop it. You did the right thing by leaving but it's obvious that he followed you. Just give me a name, Shawn."

Shawn shook his head again.

Lassiter didn't know exactly what he was doing when he crossed the room, backing Shawn up against the window. He got as close to Shawn as he could without touching him, invading the other man's personal space much the way Shawn invaded his life a few years ago. He reached out, putting his thumb on Shawn's chin and slightly turning his face so that the light from the lamp hit the darkening bruise.

"You don't deserve this, Shawn," he said in a hushed voice. "Not matter how annoying or aggravating you can be you never deserve this. You deserve better. You deserve to be happy. Let me make you happy."


	17. Forever

**Seventeen: Forever**

_They'd been arguing for the last hour. Shawn was surprised that nobody had gotten around to calling the cops but then again, what did he expect? The people in this area had a way of minding their own business, never saying anything or putting a foot in where it didn't belong. He stormed out of the room, currently standing in the bedroom trying to decide what to do. When he first met Rick he thought that he finally found someone he could love, someone that he could spend the rest of his life with. Rick helped him forget about Lassiter._

_For the first few months things went along great. There was no sign of the inner anger that burned in Rick day in and day out. Not even so much as a glimmer. When the fifth month rolled around Rick asked him to move in. he'd been living out of a hotel, having arrived in the city with plans to leave after a few days. So much for that plan. He accepted Rick's invitation. And that's when things began to change. That's when the anger started to reach the surface. At first Shawn was able to brush off the snide remarks that Rick made about him, shrugged off the occasional hit. He knew that domestic violence was wrong, understood where it could lead and yet, he stayed. Rick had been so sweet before they started living together that he figured it must be some sort of adjustment problem. He could wait it out._

_Then he began to think that he must be the source of the anger. His constant presence must be what set Rick off on a tangent. Every time that he told himself he needed to pack his bags and leave he never got around to doing it, always finding a way to put reason behind the accidents. He stayed longer than he should have, that was clear to see. That first time he appeared with a black eye the neighbors looked at him with pity but none of them offered help. They knew. Every single one of them knew. Maybe he would have gotten up the courage to leave sooner had one of them taken that first step on the path to helping him._

_He'd been standing in the bedroom thinking about packing when he heard Rick start yelling again. He closed his eyes, wishing that the world would just go away for a while. Why is that he ran from one yelling man to the other? Why couldn't he find the one person that would love him unconditionally? Did he drive Rick over the edge with his actions? Was it true that everything happening to him was his fault? He thought he heard Rick coming, turned to face his boyfriend, wishing he had some way to defend himself properly._

_Try as he might, he could not remember what happened next in any amount of detail. The last thing he saw was Rick coming after him with something in his hands, it might have been a baseball bat, he wasn't entirely sure. Rick played ball on the weekends, always had these dreams of making it in the major leagues. He was a strong man. Much stronger than Shawn._

_Days later he would reflect, try to put together the shattered pieces in hopes of making a picture of what happened that particular day. He saw Rick. Felt the blow, crying out in pain. Then he awoke in the hospital to find Rick sitting at his side playing the role of worried boyfriend, always perfect, always concealing the truth so deep inside that no one suspected what was going on. When he finally got to speak with the doctor he heard the list of his injuries; the broken ribs, the cracked skull, shattered wrist._

_And a few days later he went back home with Rick. Never said one word to any of the doctors or nurses about the origin of his injuries. Something he quickly came to regret. The beatings grew worse from there on out. Rick stopped apologizing for the bruises, the cuts, the sprains. He grew more careful with each blow, perfecting his art as Shawn had come to think of it. He wanted to leave, he wanted so desperately to run back home where he would be safe. But how could he leave? Just the simple thought of what Rick would do, how angry he would be kept him hanging around longer._

_Until Rick came after him with the knife. The burn of the blade as it sliced through his side, the warmth of the blood oozing from the cut where sensations that he would probably never overcome. For a few fleeting seconds he thought Rick was finally going to finish the job, finally end his life in a fit of rage much the way a lot of domestic violence cases end. When Rick pulled the blade out Shawn kept repeating the same mantra over and over in his head; should have gotten out, should have left when the chance offered itself. Now it's too late._

_But death wasn't what Rick had in store for him. Not that night. It was something much worse, something more earth shattering._

---------------------------------------------

Shawn lost his footing as he reached the pivotal part of the story. He fell to the floor, tears streaming down his cheeks. Lassiter felt like a heel for pushing so hard to get the important answers but he knew that there was no way he could help Shawn without them. And it was never good to keep such horrible things bottled up inside. They slowly ate away at mind and soul until they grew to be too much and death seemed like a blissful ending. He didn't want Shawn going down that road again. Not if he could help.

While Shawn did his best to retell the story, to explain to Lassiter what happened during the last few months it took most of Lassiter's strength to keep his own anger in check. One minute he wanted to yell at Shawn for being such a fool to stay in a situation like that, then he wanted to yell nasty things about Rick. But he kept his mouth shut, somehow managed to keep his composure. It might have had something to do with the broken, torn sound of Shawn's words, the way he started shaking when he talked about waking up in the hospital. His heart actually broke when he saw first hand the kind of pain that Shawn had been dealing with. He wanted to make the past disappear, wanted to make everything better.

As he held Shawn he felt the other man trembling, wondering what had happened after the stabbing. How had Shawn gotten away without help from the cops? When he arrived back in Santa Barbara the wound in his side had still been fresh, maybe a day old at the latest.

Shawn started talking again. "I told him to leave me alone…told him to…He wouldn't listen, said that I had to learn a _lesson_," Shawn practically spit out the word. "He always got what he wanted. I fought him but he still…he…he got what he wanted."

For a few seconds Lassiter wasn't exactly sure what Shawn meant by that, then something in his brain clicked. He felt physically ill, hugging Shawn tighter. "Oh Shawn, oh god, I'm sorry."

"When I woke up," Shawn plunged ahead, "he was still sleeping so I put on my clothes, gathered some of my things and left."

Lassiter fought the urge to shed tears of his own, trying to remain composed for the sake of Shawn. Yet he felt like someone had destroyed a big part of his world. They took Shawn and broke his spirit, beat down a wonderful man who had a way of making people smile. He finally understood everything about Shawn's change of behavior and he couldn't blame him. But now a new problem lay before him. He had the answers, finally had the entire truth of what happened. How was he supposed to tell Mr. Spencer that someone not only beat his son but sexually abused him at least once? How could he tell the older man that?

Then it hit him full force, the reality of the situation. "This is my fault," he suddenly uttered. "I did this to you. I sent you away. If I hadn't gotten so mad you wouldn't have left. This never would have happened. Oh god, Shawn, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never meant for this happen."


	18. Things that Matter

**Eighteen: Things that Matter**

Lassiter paced back and forth in front of the apartment door. He checked his watch for the umpteenth time, cursing under his breath while he waited for the knock on the door that he had been waiting for over the last hour. Why did it seem that it had been taking longer than that? After his talk with Shawn he managed to calm the nerves of the young man, sending him to bed. Once he was sure that Shawn was going to spend the rest of the night sleeping safety, he placed a most important phone call.

So many things were running through his mind, the thoughts trailing one right after the other. He couldn't believe the things that Shawn had told him. It hurt so much to know that he'd been somewhat responsible for what happened. And it hurt even more when he thought that there was nothing he could do to make it better. However, he was going to try like crazy to make everything better. He was going to put everything he had into make things better in Shawn's life. He wanted to make up for the mistakes of the past.

For a second he closed his eyes, heard Shawn telling him that it wasn't his fault. Stop blaming himself for something he never could have prevented. Never? That seemed harsh. In his mind this all could have been avoided if he had just tried harder not to snap at Shawn. Let Shawn say what he wanted, no matter the kindness and love behind the words. The blame lay with him.

Finally there was a knock at the door. He pulled it open before the person on the other side stopped knocking. "'Bout time you showed up."

"Nice to see you again, too, detective," Henry grumbled as he brushed past the detective into his son's apartment. "You sounded frantic on the phone, what the hell is going on?"

"I need you to stay here with Shawn while I go take care of some business," Lassiter told him.

Henry must have heard something in his voice, some little thing triggering the detective in the older Spencer. "Lassiter, is Shawn okay? Is my boy fine?"

Lassiter toyed with the idea of telling Henry everything that had happened over the past few hours. He did disclose to Henry that someone might be out to hurt Shawn, mentioned that a guy attacked Shawn in his own apartment. A spark of anger flashed in Henry's eyes. But he stopped short there, not going so far as to tell Henry the true details of Shawn's pain. It wasn't his place to pass along that information, having learned those things in confidence. Yet at the same time he battled with the emotions coursing through him. Henry had a right to know. A moral dilemma. One involving Shawn, who ever would have thought it?

"Talk to Shawn," he finally said, having decided that it was the best idea. "He might be more talkative now. Don't push, though."

"I think I know how to handle my son," Henry retorted.

"Yeah, about as well as I used to," Lassiter fired back, his anger at himself sneaking out. "He doesn't need to be yelled at, Mr. Spencer. He needs to know that he's safe. And that's why I need you here."

"You aren't making sense."

"Talk to Shawn," Lassiter said on his way out the door. "You're his father after all."

* * *

Henry sat on the couch twiddling his thumbs as he tried to figure out what to do. He'd been at Shawn's apartment for the last two hours and hadn't budged an inch. At least not after his initial sweep of the house when he realized that there was no food in fridge or cabinets, the cable had been disconnected, and there really wasn't anything of interest to read. Lassiter told him to talk to his son. Why couldn't he get up the courage to go into Shawn's bedroom? Was he afraid that Shawn might throw him out? Deciding that he couldn't take sitting in the silence doing nothing anymore he got up, walking the short hall to Shawn's bedroom where he knocked on the door.

Nobody answered.

A trickle of panic worked its way through his heart.

An image of Shawn in the hospital flashed in the forefront of his mind.

Pushing open the door he saw nothing but inky darkness at first. Then his eyes adjusted enough to make out the shape lying in the bed. No matter what he encountered when working as a cop he did his job, he always confronted the situation and handled it the way it should have been done. But Shawn, his son wasn't a crime scene, wasn't a criminal that needed to be locked up. How could he be so proud of Shawn and yet at the same time feel awkward with any inkling of a father-son moment?

It was now or never. Chicken out or man up and be there for his son.

He walked into the dark bedroom, settling on the bed, not even sure if Shawn was awake. Not knowing kind of made it easier for him. Henry looked down at his hands, clasped tightly, his back to his one and only son. So many of the things that Shawn did frustrated him. Some things brought out the worst of his temper. But no matter how much Shawn pushed he always loved him, always would, it came with being a parent. And he said this to Shawn, spoke his mind in the darkened room. Was Shawn listening? Did it really matter? There were so many things that he wanted to say but had never gotten around to sharing with the person that needed to hear them.

Then his boy left, disappeared off the face of the planet for a few months. He let it all out, every last word. A few of the things he said might have been rude but they needed to be said. Everything needed to be said. When he finished the room was silent again, almost like Shawn wasn't even there.

Henry stood, glancing back over his shoulder. "I don't care what happened to you, Shawn. Whatever you went through, that does not change how I see you. No matter what you do in this world you will always be my son and I will always love you. That is what matters. Nothing else."

Having said his peace he left the room, quietly closing the door in his wake. Little did he know that Shawn had heard every single word.


	19. Holdin' On

**Nineteen: Holdin' On**

Lassiter sat in his car deep in thought. He could stop thinking about the things Shawn shared with him, the intimate, horrible details of what Shawn went through over the last few months. And the more he thought about it the more his heart broke. It was his fault, no matter what anybody said to him. Some of the blame lay on his shoulders, something he would never be able to shake free of.

He thought when he left Shawn's apartment that he might be able to start doing some serious detective work involving Shawn's abuser. He still did not have a name, though, but wasn't too worried. He could do his job, was actually pretty good at playing the role of detective. But instead of trying to track down information he drove to the beach and sat in his car, thinking.

Basically he'd run away, got the hell out of dodge.

It bothered him knowing that the guy who hit Shawn, who hurt him, had made Shawn forget about him. Wasn't that basically what Shawn told him? That the guy helped him move on. How? It did not make sense to him. Sure he yelled a lot when it came to Shawn but he just could not help himself. Shawn could be so aggravating, irritating. A real pain in the ass.

But never in a million years would he ever raise his hand to Shawn.

Never.

He was a better man than that or at least so he liked to think.

* * *

"Dad," Shawn's voice broke through his consciousness.

Slowly he opened his eyes, having fallen asleep on the couch in Shawn's living room. A quick glance at the clock on the wall told him that he fell asleep roughly three or four hours ago. When Lassiter called earlier in the night he wasn't expecting to spend a long period of time at Shawn's place, not that it mattered in the long run. This was for his son. This was very important.

"Dad."

He turned his attention to his son who leaned against a nearby wall. Suddenly he was wide awake, every trace of sleep vanishing. He shot off the couch. "Shawn, what's wrong?" he asked, crossing the room.

"I don't feel good," Shawn muttered. Was his voice weak?

"Don't feel good in what sense?" Henry inquired. He gazed long and hard at his son picking up all the little details like he used to do as a cop. Shawn's skin was pale, dark circles visible under his eyes; which were clouded with pain. He kept his arms clutched over his stomach, the obvious source of the pain and he appeared to be unsteady on his feet. "Tell me what's wrong, Shawn?"

A full tremble nearly brought Shawn to his knees. "I…don't feel right."

Henry took hold of his son, heading toward the front door. "Come on, Shawn, we're going to the hospital."

* * *

He sat on the hood of his car, a blanket of stars overhead. He wasn't sure exactly what he was doing, not sure why he was sitting around wasting time when he should have been out hunting down Shawn's abuser. Perhaps it was the simple fact that Shawn had allowed himself to fall into such a situation that kept him from doing anything.

He always thought of Shawn as smarter than that, bright, able to spot danger a mile off. Or to at least know when to get the hell out of dodge.

Why did it have to happen this way, he wondered? What did the cards have to play out this way? Wasn't there any easier way for him to realize how cruel he'd been to Shawn, to realize just what Shawn meant to him without the other man being hurt? For the first time he finally understood what it meant to have the weight of the world resting on his shoulders.

Laughter drew his attention to a couple walking arm in arm along the beach. Love, he could see it in their body language. He thought he loved his ex-wife, and perhaps in some manner he truly had felt something for her. But what that something was he could no longer tell. Shawn had definitely done a number on his world.

Lassiter closed his eyes, ran a hand over his short hair. No more sitting around. He may not have known how to answer the question about how he felt about Shawn but that didn't mean he couldn't do something to make it right.

He vowed to catch the bastard who hurt Shawn.

And then beat the shit out of the guy.

* * *

Henry hated being in the hospital. Suddenly it seemed like he had been spending a lot of time in and around sick people, worrying about his son. He closed his eyes, forcing away unpleasant thoughts. Waiting for answers to all his burning questions made time move slower. On the way to the hospital Shawn passed out, making the worry worse. More than ever he wanted things to go back to normal. Always worrying about Shawn wasn't his way. His son knew how to take care of himself.

On the verge of calling Lassiter to inform that detective of the new development he saw the doctor walking toward him. He slipped the phone back in his pocket, eager to hear what the man had to say. What else could possibly be wrong with his son? Hadn't they fixed all the problems during the first trip?

"Mr. Spencer," the doctor addressed him. "It seems that your son has been poisoned."

"Poisoned?" The word sounded foreign, unfamiliar. Someone poisoned Shawn? Who the hell poisoned people now a days?

"Not to worry, it's a very mild poison, not life threatening," the doctor quickly assured him. "The source seems to be the recent cut on his arm. The poison will be out of his body before too much longer. There will be no permanent damage. Apparently the person responsible only wanted to make him sick to his stomach, give him a headache."

"Can I see him?"

"Sure, in a few minutes," smiled the doctor fleetingly. "We're just moving him to a private room. I'll come get you in a minute or two."

Henry watched the doctor walk away, curious about what the hell was going on. Why would anyone beat his son close to death, stab him, poison him? Sure Shawn could be beyond annoying at times but he was also very lovable, charming. He felt sick to his stomach, then angrier than he had in a very long time. More than ever he wanted to get his hands on the person that hurt his son. He wanted to put an end to the person's life. Nobody hurt Shawn. Not like this, not with such consequences. He hated to see his son broken and he promised, right then and there, that he would not rest until the person responsible paid the proper price.


	20. Summer Nights

**Author**: Curious to know. If I got an original story published would you guys be interested in knowing about it and possibly buy it? Let me know in your reviews! Enjoy this chapter!

**

* * *

Twenty: Summer Nights  
**

Lassiter swore. "Officer down, repeat, officer down," the call came over the radio. He hit the steering wheel with the palm of his hand, pissed that his plans had been interrupted. He had to report to the scene mainly because he was probably closer than the others. With one last glance at the hotel he turned the key in the ignition, starting the car. As he was pulling out into traffic he happened to look into his rearview mirror and wasn't happy with what he saw. How long before he stopped seeing a man walking around with the weight of the world on his shoulders? Guilt wormed its way into his heart, his soul.

Light on the dashboard swirling he raced to the scene of the crime to find a black and white cruiser, lights painting the night, the driver's side door wide open. He parked haphazardly, throwing open his door and pulling his gun out of the holster at the same time. From his vantage point he couldn't see the downed officer. Was the shooter still on the scene? Was he safe to go looking for the officer? He could hear the whine of sirens in the distance.

For the first time since he could remember he hesitated, afraid to leave the safety that his vehicle provided. Since when did he hesitate when it came to his job? He was one of the best detectives on the squad, always willing to do his job and never batting an eyelash. Yet he felt a flutter of panic in his chest. It had nothing to do with the possibility of a shooter being on the loose. He'd been in the line of fire before so what the hell was his problem?

_It was the risk of being shot._

He may have never worried about it much before but a scenario kept running through his mind. What if he got shot? What if he didn't survive that bullet? He could very well die and where would that leave Shawn? Broken hearted and all alone. Lassiter frowned in anger. He was wasting time, an injured cop potentially dying and all because he was worried about Shawn. Why did it matter to him if Shawn ended up broken heart? He didn't care about something as trivial as that. And yet, it was the most important thing in the world.

_Guilt._

Dammit," he cursed. Why couldn't he make heads or tails of the situation? One minute he wanted Shawn all for himself. The next he wanted to be rid of the annoying young man. If this is what it was like to fall in love than he wanted nothing to do with it. The relationship with his ex-wife had been complicated enough. "Fuck this."

With his gun ready, pointed down at the ground, he headed toward the patrol car. Nothing. Not a sign of the downed officer. Than he spotted a bloodied handprint on the hood of the vehicle. Slowly, cautiously, he began to look around the scene trying to find the officer. He wanted to call out but was afraid that if he did he might get shot. Then he noticed the figure in the recessed doorway of a business. Without wasting another second he rushed to the officer.

"McNab," he said in surprise, shocked to see the officer huddled in the doorstep. Officer McNab happened to be a good friend of Shawn's, a believer that the man was actually psychic. "Where are you hit?"

McNab moved his hand revealing the fiercely bleeding wound in his left leg. "Careful, Detective Lassiter, I think the gunman is still around."

"What the hell went down?"

"Robbery," gasped McNab. "Or at least, that's what the original call came in as. I never saw the person that shot me. Just came out of nowhere."

"Come on, let's get you out of here," Lassiter said as he put his gun back in the holster. He did his best to get McNab to his feet, holding up the injured officer. The sirens drew ever closer, probably less than a block or two away. "We need to get you to the hospital."

They were close to his car when another shot rang out. Lassiter felt the burning pain of a bullet tearing through the flesh of his arm. He felt the warmth of blood oozing out of the wound as he fell into Officer McNab. He managed to keep standing, catching McNab with his good arm and rushing him to the car. Throwing the car into gear he raced out of the area as McNab placed a call over the radio to warn the other officers about ready to appear on the scene.

* * *

He tried to shrug into his shirt wincing in pain. Whoever shot him had pretty good marksmen ship hitting him in the arm. The bullet tore through his arm and lodged in his chest, hitting one of his ribs. The doctors were able to remove it without having to do any surgery. In the blink of an eye he was stitched up and pretty much ready to hit the streets again. But before he could leave he wanted to see how McNab was fairing, then give Mr. Spencer a call to see how things were fairing at Shawn's.

As he stepped out into the hallway he ran into the old Spencer, shocked to see the former cop in the hospital. He was instantly filled with worry. "What happened? Is Shawn okay?"

Henry sighed, explained to him what happened, promised him that Shawn would be just fine in a matter of hours. "Why are you here?"

"Shooting. Nothing to worry about."

"Mr. Spencer," a male nurse in tie-dye scrubs yelled down the hallway. "There's a problem with your son."

Without waiting for any explanation they followed the doctor, going up a few flights in the elevator. When they reached the roof Lassiter began to feel a flutter of panic that was starting to become almost permanent when it came to Shawn. He directed the doctor to stay in the elevator and after a bit of arguing with Mr. Spencer he convinced the former cop to stay as well. Walking out onto the rooftop he realized that he forgot to button his shirt in the haste to get here. The cool night air brushed against his bare skin. He spotted Shawn standing a few feet away from the edge. How had he managed to get up here? Shouldn't the hospital make it impossible for things like this to happen? Patients jumping off the roof would be bad publicity.

"Spencer," he announced himself. "What are you doing?"

"Getting out of the hospital," came the reply. "I don't want to be here."

Lassiter stopped behind him, taking in the view of the city from the high vantage point. He had to admit that it was rather breath taking, and he might have been able to enjoy it had he not been worried about Shawn taking a swine dive.

"Shawn…"

"I'm not going to jump," Shawn said turning to face him. "I merely wanted to get out of the hospital."

"Then go out the front door, don't come up to the roof," Lassiter was on the verge of yelling. "Dammit Shawn, do you have any idea how worried you've made me?"

Shawn said nothing as he walked toward Lassiter. Tentatively he reached out touching the white bandage that wrapped around the upper portion of Lassiter's chest. At his touch Lassiter felt a shiver work its way down his spine. A rather surprising thought crossed his mind and at that moment he wondered what it would be like to kiss Shawn. And before he knew what he was doing he placed a finger under Shawn's chin, titling his head. He must have been crazy, must have completely lost his mind. He was seconds away from kissing Shawn, seconds away from taking a step he wasn't sure about when his pager went off ruining the moment.

The desire passed. He stepped back putting distance between him and Shawn. "Come on, you need to go back inside and I need to get to work."


	21. Why

**Twenty-One: Why**

Lassiter zoned out while the officer talked. Usually he was all about doing his job, getting the work done, catching the bad guy. But something had changed. He'd been given a few days off to work with Shawn. Personally, he felt that they hadn't even gotten started, there was a little progress but not much. He wanted there to be more, there should have been more. However, instead of being able to spend a few more days focused on Shawn the chief put him back on the job. And that's why he was busy not listening while the officer droned on and on about the botched robbery. Apparently the common crime went wrong. It wouldn't have even been his business if it hadn't been for the fact that Buzz got shot as well as himself. The chief wanted answers, demanded answers.

Did she have any idea what the hell she was doing to him?

First she wanted him with Shawn. Then she wants him away from Shawn. Why didn't it seem like everyone wanted to mess with his head? Or was it that he simply couldn't figure things out for himself? One minute he loved Shawn and the next he was reminded of how annoying the young man could be. Would there ever be a straight answer to the situation? What he needed was somebody to sit down with, someone with which he could speak his mind. But who? Did he dare to trust O'Hara? She might go all lovey-dovey crazy on him so definitely not her. What about Gus? Could he honestly sit down and have a conversation with Gus about his feelings towards Shawn? Not a chance in hell. Despite the length of time they'd known each other he felt he barely knew a thing about Gus and that didn't qualify as nearly enough for him to open his heart, speak his mind.

That really only left him with two options. The chief and Shawn's father. He could have gone out of his way to seek out Shawn's mom but did not want to sit down with a head shrink. And what if Mr. Spencer hadn't mentioned anything to her about their son's feelings towards him? Talk about awkward moments. Either he was going to have to choose someone to talk with, go crazy, and try getting through to Shawn so that they could speak openly about the thoughts running rampant in their minds.

He found himself replaying those few minutes on the roof when he wanted to kiss Shawn. Where the hell had that come from? The impulse was suddenly there, the desire to know what it felt like. Was he merely curious about kissing another guy or did he really want to kiss Shawn? Why couldn't he figure anything out?

"Earth to Lassiter," O'Hara broke his wallowing chain of thought. "Have you heard a word I've said?"

"No."

She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest and shaking her head. "Can't get him off your mind, can you?" Suddenly she smiled slyly. "Sounds to me like you're in love, Carlton. Head over heels in love with Shawn. Who would have thought it possible?"

"I'm not in love with him," Lassiter instantly protested. Was that a blatant lie? The truth?

"Sure you aren't," she readily agreed. As she headed toward the center of the crime scene she called back over her shoulder. "That's why you can't stop thinking about him."

* * *

Gus was at the Spencer's house, a place where he spent a good portion of his childhood. He kept thinking of random moments in his life growing up with Shawn, wondering if maybe he should have foreseen something like this happening. Who ever did? He hated to admit to anyone the truth but he felt hurt that Shawn couldn't find it within to open up to him. He was his best friend. They'd been through so much together. Yeah, they had their fair share of disagreements and he didn't always agree with the things Shawn wanted to do but so what? All friendships worked that way. Why couldn't Shawn open up to him? Why was he being shut out?

"Do you ever think that he will be the same?" Gus asked, glancing across the table at Henry.

The former cop shrugged his shoulders. "For the first time in my life I haven't clue. I don't know what happened to make him this way so I can't even begin to understand what's wrong with him."

"What do you think it might be, though, if you had to guess?" He had his own theories, ideas, and he hated all of them. The idea that someone hurt his friend so deeply, changed him this much terrified him. Why would anyone do this sort of thing to Shawn? He was a good man, a happy bring-a-smile-to-your-face kind of person. Gus thought about all the good Shawn did while solving cases. Okay, he lied about being a psychic but he still got the job done. Bad guys were still getting put behind bars because of him.

"I try not to think about it for fear of what my mind might come up with," answered Henry. He'd left Shawn at the hospital a few hours ago as directed by the doctor. Of course, he only left after the doctor vowed to call him should anything change, even the slightest little seemingly unimportant thing. It scared him to think that Shawn might have been up on that roof to do himself harm. He'd already tried once.

"Maybe we need to mount our own investigation," suggested Gus, finally voicing an idea he'd been toying with the majority of the day. "You know, get the answers for ourselves, then we can worry about what to do with the information. This not knowing is starting to kill me."

Henry eyeballed him for a few moments not saying a word. Then he finally spoke. "That isn't a half bad idea, Gus."

"Where do you want to start?"

* * *

Somehow he finally managed to force thoughts of Shawn out of his mind and focus on the task at hand. The sooner he solved this crime the sooner he could move on to other things. He worked the scene much the way he normally would, giving it a look over before talking with any witnesses. He jotted down random thoughts into a notebook, curious about who would try to rob a nail salon after the place closed and the owner claimed to have taken the money to the bank. For a moment he wondered if this might be some sort of inside job. Might the manager have taken the money and in an attempt to cover-up the crime decided to call in a robbery and shoot a cop? One look at the manager put that idea to bed. The guy didn't look smart enough to think of such a thorough plan. Probably got high on the job sniffing chemicals. He looked like the type.

One witness gave her account of what happened. She'd heard the whole thing from her third floor apartment across the street from the salon. Of course, she hadn't seen anyone but him and Buzz so her account wasn't worth much to him at that moment. Apparently a lot of people heard the shots but very few actually bothered to see what all the commotion was about. Typical. Why get involved? He was never going to understand why people refused to get involved in police matters. When were people going to realize that helping the police was a good thing, not some horrible crime? Every crime scene he worked there was never a shortage of onlookers, the great American rubber-necker, so to speak, that curiosity and fascination with the morbid-ness of murder.

Everyone suffered from it.

He sighed, frustrated. With no witnesses he was going to have to rely on the evidence gathered by the technicians. What if they couldn't find anything? What he wouldn't give to actually have Shawn show up and start acting weird with one of his so-called psychic visions.

As he was looking around he noticed O'Hara talking to a tall guy in a dark suit. A guy on the inside of the crime scene tape. He didn't look familiar so Lassiter started across the scene. He wanted to know who the guy was, what he was doing on the wrong side of the tape, why O'Hara hadn't bothered to kick him out of the crime scene. She saw him coming before he reached the two of them. She said something to the guy, who turned to watch as he approached.

"Detective Carlton Lassiter," she said, "I want you to meet Detective Stephen Rossi."

"What are you doing here?" Lassiter asked, ignoring the detective's outstretched hand.

"Well, I'm here because of this crime," Detective Rossi explained. "There have been similar crimes committed in my neck of the woods. Three officers have been sent to the hospital. One was killed no more than two weeks ago."

Something clicked in Lassiter's head. "I remember reading about that in the newspaper."

"Then you won't mind my helping?"

"Just make sure you stay out of my way."

Detective Rossi held up his hands. "Don't worry, detective, I'm not here to steal your thunder or anything. Just want to help put this guy behind bars where he belongs. That officer was a friend of mine."

Lassiter looked the detective up and down. "You want to work this here you have to talk with Chief Vick."

"Already done."

"Then why are we wasting time?" O'Hara butted in. "Let's get this jackass."


	22. Once

**Twenty-Two: Once**

When the sun came up Lassiter finally managed to make it home, dragging his feet as he walked through the front door. He had no desire to deal with Shawn, mentally and physically exhausted from working through the night. He shut off his cell phone before throwing it on the counter with his keys. He kicked off his shoes, then detoured into the living room where he took the phone off the hook. He wanted to be able to get a few hours of rest without interruption. For some reason he couldn't shake the feeling that he'd been going non-stop for the last few days. All the worrying over Shawn combined with being shot and then working too long had brought him down. He'd probably sleep through a good portion of the day. On his way towards the stairs he made sure that the front door was locked.

In his bedroom he removed his badge and gun, slipping them into the drawer of the nightstand, always within easy reach should he need them in an emergency. He shucked off his clothes and climbed under the covers. He was out like a light before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

Gus did his best not to fidget in the passenger seat of Henry's truck. He may have known the man for a long time but for some reason he felt vastly uncomfortable traveling along the highway alone with Shawn's father without his best friend present. How many times had he spent a few hours alone with Henry? He could probably count them on one hand if he tried. Instead he kept his eyes focused on the world passing outside the window. Meanwhile his thoughts returned to Shawn.

His best friend.

The one person that would not talk to him for anything.

He couldn't help feeling that in some way he brought this on himself. Maybe he shouldn't have been so hard on Shawn. He was always calling him names and putting down his ideas, even though he willingly went along with the craziness that Shawn produced on a day to day basis. And now that was over, the friendship shattered. Would it ever be what it once was? Would they ever be able to laugh and joke and finish each other's sentences without a care? He sure hoped so.

Until then he was going to accompany Henry as they tried to get answers for themselves. He hadn't expected much to come from his suggestion the night before but when he awoke that morning Henry was outside waiting in the truck. He'd worked through most of the night unable to sleep and by some luck he managed to find a clue that might be used to their advantage. A receipt for gas that Shawn bought a distance away from Santa Barbara. Henry said he did the math, figured that the driving distance was well within range, easy for Shawn to make it back home with a fresh, bleeding wound on his side.

So they were headed toward the gas station to see what they could learn.

He hoped that they managed to get something because he was on the verge of losing his cool. How much longer was he going to be able to sit idly by while his friend struggled to come to terms with whatever it was that happened to him?

Before he knew it Henry was pulling the truck into the gas station. He felt the beat of his heart quicken as they climbed out of the car. For all he knew this could be a complete dead end. How many people came through this station on a daily basis? Hourly? Unless the person working behind the register had a photographic memory he found it highly unlikely that they would remember one person. Yet he hoped with all his heart that the drive out here wouldn't be for nothing. If anything maybe Henry could convince them to let him watch the security tapes, if they hadn't already been erased.

Inside he stood off to the side while Henry did all the talking. He explained to the lady behind the counter that he was looking for information about a young man, then went on to describe Shawn. She shook her head, mildly confused by what he was saying. However, when Henry mentioned that there might have been blood on Shawn's shirt a light went on in her eyes. She told them to find a dude named Peter and ask him about it, remembering a vague conversation with her co-worker about a man with a bloody shirt. Henry thanked her before heading into the depths of the small convenience store.

They found Peter by the frozen foods.

"Excuse me, sir, but do you remember about a week or so ago a young man in the store that might have had blood on his shirt?"

Peter looked like a reliable source to Gus but than again, he wasn't the whiz at noticing things like his friend. "Yeah, yeah, I remember him. Thought it was weird. Asked him if he wanted any help but he didn't say a word. Just paid for his gas and left. Should I have called the cops? I mean, this guy didn't murder anyone or up and die did he?"

Henry ignored the questions. "Do you have any idea where he might have been coming from?"

"When he pulled his wallet out of his pocket a piece of paper fluttered to the floor," Peter told them as he leaned on his broom. "Didn't seem to care about it so I picked it up after he left. Turned out to be an advertisement for a benefit the next town over. My guess would be to check around there, see if anybody saw him."

"Thank you," Henry said before turning to leave the store. It had all happened so quickly that Gus could hardly believe it happened at all. They found one lead and it brought them a second lead. He had no clue what Henry planned to do next but he was sure as hell happy that they were heading toward something. Maybe the truth was well within sight. Maybe he was finally going to understand why Shawn changed so drastically.

* * *

Walking down the hallway he mentally argued with himself, chastised himself for being so weak minded. The smells of the hospital tickled his nose in an annoying way. He'd planned on sleeping for hours, whiling away the day in bed until he couldn't deny the truth and get out of bed to do something with his time. He didn't plan on that happening so shortly after falling into bed, though. Just four hours of sleep and he was wide awake, pictures from his dreams lingering. Every single dream centered on Shawn. Shawn in trouble. Always in trouble.

Usually he wasn't one to go on hunches but something made him get out of bed even though he was still tired. Something forced him to get dressed and drive down to the hospital to check on Shawn. And as he walked through the door into the room he wanted nothing more than to be back home in bed sound asleep. Much to his surprise he found Shawn fully clothed and sitting in the chair usually occupied by visitors.

"Why aren't you in bed?"

Shawn looked at him, jumped out of the chair. "I don't want to be here. I can't stand it anymore."

"Spencer-"

"I'm fine, perfectly healthy," Shawn continued ranting, ignoring Lassiter. "There isn't anything wrong with me and yet the doctor won't discharge me. Can you believe that? He will not let me leave. Please, you have to have a word with him," he said, stopping right in front of Lassiter. "I have to get out of here."

Suddenly it hit him much the way it did on the rooftop the night before. He wanted to kiss Shawn. He wanted to know what it was like, wanted to share that special gesture with him. And he figured what the hell; one kiss might help him to figure out once and for all whether or not he loved Shawn. What if it turned out he didn't? The kiss might make Shawn think that he shared his feelings. It would be a tease plain and simple. The bigger question, what if it turned out he did love Shawn? Would he be able to handle it? He couldn't take the constant battle going on inside of him so he decided that it needed to end right then and there.

Grabbing Shawn he pulled him roughly toward him and before he could lose his nerve he kissed him. There was absolutely no protest from Shawn as their lips met confirming to him that what the others had been saying all along was right. Shawn had something for him. Before the kiss could lead to something more he broke it off. His pager chose that exact moment to go off, making him jump. He pulled it free, glancing at the message and then took a step back toward the door. Shawn didn't move.

"Sorry, duty calls," he said, trying to get out of the awkward moment. "I'll um…come by later…if I can."

Shawn let him go out the door without any protest.


	23. I Want You

**Twenty-Three: I Want You**

The kiss took him by surprise. For the longest time he wondered what it would be like to share such a special moment with Lassiter. Of course he never envisioned it happening while he was in the hospital wishing to be anywhere else. _Never look a gift horse in the mouth_, the old saying ran through his head. Lassiter actually kissed him. It wasn't the most romantic setting or the greatest kiss in the world since there had been hesitation but it meant more to him than he could put into words.

Deciding that he needed to say something to Lassiter before the detective disappeared into his work again he charged out of the room heading down the hall in the direction he felt Lassiter would have gone. He couldn't tell which raced more, his heart or his mind. He wanted to share that experience again, wanted to do it somewhere more fitting with more feeling. It may have been his imagination, and he was sure hoping that it wasn't, but he could have sworn that from the look on Lassiter's face the kiss had done something, proven something to him. Could one simple kiss have been enough to make up the detective's mind on the subject of love?

He just had to know, no more wondering, no more sitting in the dark waiting for the light. After everything that he'd been through the last few months he needed to find something to hold on to. He realized as he raced down the hallway that his return home had been for a reason. Of all the places he could have gone he didn't hesitate in returning to the one place in the world where he'd always be welcomed. He wanted to get out of the dark, wanted to find his way out of the woods and back to the path he'd been taking before everything fell apart. More than anything he wanted to put the pieces of his life back together. But in order to do that he needed to know that something wonderful was waiting for him when he stepped into the light.

Lassiter.

The drive to know what the kiss meant to the detective spurred him on. How had Lassiter managed to get so far away from him in those few minutes? He dodged doctors and nurses and patients, praying all the while not to be stopped by any of the staff members. And he might very well get his wish since he'd been wearing his personal clothes for the last few hours. He planned on leaving the hospital, couldn't for the life of him figure out why they wanted to keep him over night. He felt fine. The tests said he was fine. He should have been able to go home.

When he rounded the next corner he came to a halt, then quickly ducked back around the corner. Back up against the wall he closed his eyes, gritted his teeth. This could not be happening, not here, not now. What he had just seen around the corner was not possible. Was he stuck in some permanent nightmare? Just when he thought he might have stumbled out of the dark into the fog he was thrust backward, sinking, losing his shining star, watching it fall further and further out of his reach.

Lassiter.

He clenched his hands into fists. What the hell happened to him? Why was he letting this person get the better of him? When did he stop fighting and become such a coward? All over the world people suffered the same abuse and sometimes things much worse and they managed to continue on with their lives. Why couldn't he? He had a father that cared deeply about him, even if he wasn't openly affectionate. And Gus, the greatest friend a person could ask for. After everything he put Gus through his friend was always there ready for the next case, ready to embark on the next crazy adventure. Jules with her room brightening smile and enthusiastic nature. His buddy Buzz and even Chief Karen. They cared about him, they were important to him. Right now Buzz was lying in a bed in the same hospital, a wound in his leg, and Shawn knew how to make it right.

Now if only he could gather the courage to put an end to this before it got any worse.

Peeking around the corner he watched with horror as Lassiter headed out of the hospital with another detective. He chewed his bottom lip. Either he could go after them and risk sounding like a raving lunatic or he could make a beeline for the precinct. Whatever he did he had to act quickly because things were teetering on the brink of chaos.

Lassiter and the detective disappeared into the night.

Shawn shifted his weight from one foot to the other, anxious, unable to decide on the next course of action. Someone yelled his name. He glanced down the hallway to see his doctor heading in his direction. Seeing that white coat heading his way was all he needed to spur him into action. He raced toward the front door like someone lit a fire under his feet. Being stuck in the hospital would be of no help to the cause. He knew that on some level his father's heart would be broken to learn that he left the hospital against the better wishes of the doctor but he had to do this, he couldn't sit idly by.

Racing into the night he watched as Lassiter's car headed out of the parking lot. He thought of racing after it waving his arms above his head, yet he turned and took off in the opposite direction, running at full tilt until he was well out of range of the hospital. The wound in his side throbbed most painfully as he came to a halt, the lights of the hospital now in the distance. He collapsed on a bench to catch his breath, clenching his teeth as he tried dealing with the pain. What to do now?

Pulling his cell phone out of his pocket he hit speed dial and listened impatiently to the ringing. Lassiter did not pick up. After a few rings he heard Lassiter's voice as his voicemail directed him to leave a message. He waited for the customary beep.

"Lassie, pick-up, please. I need to talk to you. This is urgent. Pick-up. I want you to call me when you get this."

Feeling anxious again he hit another speed dial and was happy when Jules answered. "Where's Lassiter?" he asked skipping over the customary hello.

"Shawn? How are you doing, hm? I was planning-"

"I'm sorry, Jules," he suddenly felt the urge to apologize, cutting her off in the process. "I am so sorry for everything and we'll talk you, me and Gus. I promise. But right now I need to know where Lassiter is. Please."

For a few seconds she didn't answer and he was beginning to wonder if she ever would or if he'd said something to upset her. Then she spoke. "He's working on a case with a detective from up north. I'm not sure of their exact location. I haven't talked to him in the last few hours, been here reading reports on similar crimes. Have you tried calling him?"

"He's not answering."

"I'm sorry, Shawn. I can try reaching him through dispatch…"

"Yes, please do that, thank you."

"No problem." She paused. "I miss you Shawn."

He closed his eyes fighting away the wave of emotions that threatened to overtake him at that moment. "I miss me too. Listen, I have to go. I'll call you, okay?"

"Do you promise?"

"I promise."

He hung up. What the hell was he going to do? How could he figure out where Lassiter went? Time was wasting. He chewed his bottom lip, an idea bouncing around in the back of his head. One that he did not particularly like in the least. An idea that made him physically sick to his stomach. Absently he made little circles on the back of his phone with his thumb as he weighed the pros and cons of the idea. There had to be another way, this could not possibly be the only one. Yet he knew deep in his heart that this was the answer. The only way to help Lassiter. Hands shaking he dialed a number he wanted erased from his life permanently. He put his phone to his ear, listening to the rings, then felt every muscle in his body go ridged with fear as the person on the other end picked up and said his name.


	24. Lead On

**Twenty-Four: Lead On**

Gus tried to suppress his yawn and failed. For the last few hours he had been following Shawn's father around the town trying to learn what they could about Shawn's time up here, if he had indeed been up here. He leaned back against the truck as Henry darted into another store, this time to grab a few snacks for the ride home. Gus could see the disappointment written all over Henry's face. And it only got worse when the hospital called to inform him that Shawn managed to leave and they had no idea where he was. That's all it took for Henry to call off the search for information. He said something about going back to Santa Barbara to look for Shawn.

Would his friend ever be the same?

He jumped when his cell phone rang, the sound catching him off guard. Pulling it out of his back pocket he hoped to see that it was Shawn calling but felt a little let down when he saw Juliet's name flashing on the small screen. He flipped open the phone and listened as she went on a rant, not once giving him a chance to get a word in edgewise. As he listened he watched Henry in the store through the big glass windows at the front. She talked so fast most of her words ran into each other but he managed to get what she was saying, a special talent he developed after many years of hanging out with Shawn. When she stopped to catch her breath he thanked her for the information, promised to keep in touch, and promptly hung up on her.

At that moment Henry came out of the store. Gus fidgeted with nervous energy, ready to burst with the new information, shout it across the parking lot. He managed to keep a lid on his mouth until Henry got closer, than he pounced on Shawn's father.

"Juliet called," he started off. "Shawn called her and wanted to get in touch with Lassiter. She said he sounded freaked out, panicked, on edge, something like that so when the conversation ended she started searching through Lassiter's desk. And she found a file he kept from her. It has information on a hospital visit in the area matching with Shawn's injuries, of course using an assumed name."

"Where is this going, Gus?" Henry asked, clearly not in the mood for the whole story.

"She gave me an address. Apparently an ambulance picked-up Shawn the time he got hit in the head. I say we check the map and see how far away it is before just giving up and going home. This might very well be the lead that we have been looking for all day."

Henry through the bag of purchases on the seat and grabbed the map. He spread it open on the hood of the truck and traced down the street once Gus gave him the name. it was actually fairly close to their current location so he figured it couldn't hurt to pay the place a quick visit. After all, Gus might be right in assuming they'd find something there. having spent the better portion of his life as a cop he just could not bring himself to walk away from this trip empty handed. Especially since any information that he managed to gather would go a long way in not only understanding what happened to his son but also help him figure out how to help Shawn.

They drove down to the street, a residential location and parked the truck on the corner. Henry made sure to lock the doors before starting toward the first house. He wanted to ask a few of the residents if they had seen anyone like Shawn, flash them a picture. Just a few homes and then he'd call it quits for the night, go back home and see if he could track down his wayward son. The first three houses got them nowhere. Nobody answered at the fourth. The man at the fifth house refused to answer any questions and the person in the sixth didn't know anything. He sighed, attempting to hide his vast disappointment from Gus. They were heading back to the truck when someone yelled in their direction. He turned to see a woman heading in their direction. He realized that he'd caught a glimpse of her at the fifth house. She'd peeked out of a room when her husband answered the door.

"Are you guys looking for a man that rides a motorcycle?" she asked as she drew nearer.

"Yeah, have you seen him around here?" Henry inquired, finally feeling a bit of hope.

She nodded her head, glancing back over her shoulder quickly as she came to a stop before them. "Yes, I think his name was Shawn. Is he okay?"

"In a manner of speaking," Henry avoided the truth. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, people don't go around knocking on doors asking questions about a perfectly healthy person," she remarked. She was wringing her hands. "Anyway. I knew him. He was my neighbor for a short time." She indicated the house where he got no answer when he knocked. "Nice guy when he first moved in. Real nice. We chatted a few times, 'bout nothing in particular. Then things started to change."

Henry felt like he was back on the job working one of the most important cases of his life. "How?"

"He spent more and more time squirreled away in the house. When he would come out he wouldn't talk or at least wouldn't say much of anything," she explained, shaking her head. "I saw the bruises every now and then. Didn't quite know what to make of them at first. Figured that maybe he was just clumsy, you know? But the worse they got the more withdrawn he became. And I will never forget the night the ambulance came."

"Do you know what happened?" Henry implored.

She shrugged. "Mark said that he fell, hit his head on the counter in the kitchen. I wanted to believe him, truly, but…I don't know, something seemed wrong. Then the young man disappeared. It's been eating away at me these last few days. Been wanting to call the cops but what do I tell them? He could have moved on of his own free will. Gotten out of bad situation to a better place. You swear that he's okay?"

"Yes," answered Henry, smiling for a moment. "A bit bumped up and such but otherwise fine. Do you mind if I ask you about your neighbor? What can you tell me about him?"

* * *

Juliet was getting ready to head home, put an end to the night, when Henry and Gus came running into the precinct. She stopped short, having just closed up her desk. Why did she insist on working such late hours, the random thought crossed her mind, completely out of place. Apparently she wasn't the only one keeping late hours as Chief Vick came out of her office the picture of someone headed home after a grueling day of work.

"Where is Lassiter?" Gus barked when they drew close enough.

"What is this about?" Chief Vick wanted to know, looking from Gus to Henry and back again.

Henry gave a quick explanation of the day right up to the conversation with the woman. "We need to find Lassiter. It's very important. I think Shawn was on to something when he called you earlier, Juliet."

"He's working on the shooting case with another detective. Their probably working as we speak," Juliet told them. "I don't see what the big deal is…"

"What is the detective's name?" pushed Henry.

"He is a very decorated and respected detective," Chief Vick butted in, a look of disapproval on her face. "We are more than lucky to have him helping us on this case. Detective Mark Rossi-"

"Most likely put Shawn in the hospital," finished Henry.


	25. Undone

Profile update! Please check it out!

**

* * *

Twenty-Five: Undone**

"That is purely crazy," Chief Vick responded, shaking her head in disbelief. "The man has a clean record. Spotless. I highly doubt he would be the kind of person to hurt your son. You must be mistaken. Perhaps you got your facts wrong."

Henry was shaking his head before she even finished the first sentence. "We have a witness. A woman that saw the abuse first hand. She's willing to testify to the abuse if it comes down to that, said as much herself. She not only saw the bruises and cuts Shawn received at the hands of Detective Rossi but she heard him crying out in pain a few times. The only reason she didn't take the proper steps in reporting the abuse is because of her husband."

"She could be lying to you," Chief Vick continued to fight.

Gus sighed in frustration. "Meanwhile Lassiter is off running around with this guy and we have no idea where Shawn is."

"Oh no," spoke-up Juliet in a disheartening tone. "Lassiter told me he was going to visit Shawn before he called it a night. The next time I heard from him, a few minutes later, he said a detective wanted to check out a lead. There's a good chance Shawn saw them together. He's wouldn't do something completely and utterly stupid, would he?"

Henry, Gus and Chief Vick just stared at her. She felt the heat of a blush spread across her cheeks. Clearly a silly question to be asking on her part. It broke her heart to learn that Shawn had been abused at the hands of someone he probably fell in love with. She hated domestic abuse, loathed it. Love wasn't supposed to be about pain and dominance and fear. It was supposed to be about caring, someone to turn to when you needed a shoulder to cry on, and someone to rely on. Love should equal moments of happiness, not trips to the hospital.

And she knew deep in her heart that Shawn was out there somewhere in the darkness of the night trying to help Lassiter. Would Detective Rossi make a move on her partner? Did he know anything about their friendship with Shawn or was it simply a coincidence? She couldn't shake the feeling that Detective Rossi arrived at the crime scene for a specific reason, one that had nothing to do with catching the guy who shot Buzz and Lassiter. No, he must have figured out who Lassiter was from the visit to Shawn's apartment, decided to insert himself into the case. It made her sick to her stomach to think that a cop, someone most people might think of as a good guy, beating her friend and breaking the law.

She wanted to put his head on a stake.

"Jules…" Gus spoke her name. She snapped out of her thoughts, looked at him. "You look like you're ready to break someone's neck."

"That bastard hurt Shawn," she said as she unlocked her desk and removed her gun, clipping the holster on her waistband. "And there is no telling what he's doing to Lassiter, who will not answer his phone. You're damn right I want to break his neck. It might be the nicest thing to ever happen to him."

Chief Vick headed back toward her office. "If Lassiter is driving his car than we should be able to get a general idea of his location. About a month ago, when it went in for repairs, I had them stick a tracking device on it for times such as these. Hopefully he's with his car."

"Only one way to find out," Juliet said.

* * *

Shawn knew where they were, understood that Lassiter wasn't going out to track down leads with the other detective. Not the way he thought. But Shawn couldn't blame him, not in the least. The detective was a very convincing, charming man when he wanted to be. It would have been extremely easy for him to get on Lassiter's good side, to get Lassiter to trust him and follow him wherever he felt like leading the man. And that made Shawn want to throw-up and scream in anger at the same time. He'd been down that road, fell for those charms, faced the lies.

When he called the detective he felt the fear racing through his body. At the mere sound of his voice Shawn's heart rate increased, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He wasn't entirely sure how his former lover managed to follow him back to Santa Barbara but right now that wasn't the most important thing. Getting Lassiter free was important, that's what mattered the most to him. He'd never be able to live with himself if he got Lassiter killed. Dealing with his ex was his thing.

With steel resolve he made his way toward the location where he happened to know the bastard planned on killing him or Lassiter or both of them. Maybe he should have called for back-up. Maybe he should have let someone know what he was doing but instead he turned off his cell phone, effectively making it impossible to track him. If he was ever going to be free of his past he needed to do this, he had to face his fear or he'd never be able to move on.

He stopped outside the warehouse looking up at the once empty building. Somewhere within the bowels he would find the object of his affection as well as the man that left him broken, shattered, damaged. The door stood less than two feet away yet he could not bring himself to move closer. He clenched his hands into fists, gritted his teeth, tried to put on a brave face and failed. Every action of abuse ran through his mind like some sort of fucked up movie. And in cold clarity he remembered the last night, the vividness of the anger in his ex's eyes chilling him to the bone. The wound in his side began to burn as he recalled what it felt like to have the knife driven into his flesh.

And then he heard a moaning sound. Distracted and on high alert he moved slowly toward the source of the sound. Hidden behind a bunch of bushes he stumbled across a body. For a second he worried that he might have arrived too late to save Lassiter. Then he recognized the downed detective and he fell to his knees. He checked for a pulse. Present and strong, what a relief.

"Mark," he whispered, gently shaking the detective. "Mark, wake up."

The detective groaned but his eyes remained shut. Shawn felt a jolt of panic shoot through his body. He climbed to his feet, unsure of what to do. Call the cops?

As he stood there he heard what sounded like gunfire coming from inside the warehouse.

Lassiter.

Without thinking he tore open the door and charged into the vast empty space. He realized a little too late that it was a trap. Lassiter sat in a chair in the middle of the warehouse, his hands bound behind his back, a spotlight shining down on him. The shooter was nowhere in sight. Lassiter had a bit of blood from what looked like a busted lip but was otherwise unharmed; which Shawn said a silentl thank you for. He took a step toward Lassiter.

"Get out of here, Spencer," yelled Lassiter, his voice angry, his eyes burning. "Get the hell out of here!"

Shawn stopped in his tracks, taken aback. Then Patrick, the man he feared, stepped out of the shadows and hit Shawn hard enough to knock him to the floor. "Did you really think that you could get away from me that easily, Shawnie? Did you? Did you forget what I do for living? I knew every single pathetic thing there was to know about you in the first month, whether you told me or not. You were stupid to leave, Shawn. Even dumber for returning home. Didn't you ever stop to think that that might be the first place I'd look?"

"People are going to learn about what you did," growled Lassiter.

Patrick laughed, an eerie sound in the open space of the warehouse. "I highly doubt that detective, you see, not a single person has realized that I am the one responsible for the shootings. Well, aside from poor Detective Rossi. But I can take care of him. No problem. He shouldn't have been meddling in my affairs. You know, I shot that cop up north," he said, turning back to Shawn. He crouched by Shawn, running the barrel of his gun along Shawn's cheek. "Didn't I, Shawnie? Shot that cop while you were watching. He never should have gotten involved in my business. Never should have tried coming between you and me. Well, he paid for it, didn't he? Mark will learn the same lesson."

Suddenly Patrick stood and walked toward Lassiter. He put a hand under Lassiter's chin and roughly titled his head back, then placed the barrel of his gun on the side of Lassiter's head. "And now it looks like I will have to do it all over again. You have a way of inserting yourself where you do not belong, Detective Carlton Lassiter. The stupid officer was supposed to die. But you just had to arrive like a white knight and save him. Well, nobody is going to do the same for you."

"Please," Shawn spoke, finally finding his voice. "Please don't hurt him, Patrick. He never did anything to you. This is my fault. You're mad at me. Take it out on me, not him."

"Shut up, Shawn."

"Why don't the both of you shut up?"

Silence settled over the warehouse. Shawn was physically trembling, wave after wave of emotions rolling over his body. He hated to think about that day when he watched Patrick kill a fellow officer in cold blood. It was one of the things he'd probably live with the rest of his life, those images forever etched in his mind. It was that murder that made it clear to him that Patrick had no respect for human life, didn't care one iota about who he hurt as long as he got what he wanted. The fear of ending up like that cop kept him from speaking out about the murder, kept him in place, much the way that Patrick planned it. And now he was afraid that it was going to happen all over again.

And Mark, how did Mark end up here?

Then he heard the wail of police sirens drawing closer to their location.

Patrick heard them as well. He titled his head mimicking a dog, a cruel smile appearing on his face. "Sounds like the cavalry is on the way. Well, I must be on my way." He started for the front door, stopping at Shawn's side. He grabbed Shawn roughly by the arm, the gun always pointed at his chest. "And you get to come along for the ride. You should always finish what you start, Shawn."

As Patrick dragged him out of the warehouse he heard Lassiter yelling his name. Passing by Mark who still lay prone on the ground, down and out, Patrick raised his gun and fired at the detective.


	26. Shattered

**Twenty-Six: Shattered**

Lassiter was still trying to get free of the rope binding his wrists to the chair so he could follow after Patrick and Shawn when the front door of the warehouse was busted down by a member of the SWAT. Seeing the men in their black protective gear with their high powered rifles gave him a moment of relief, then he started worrying about Shawn all over again. He'd heard the shot after Shawn got out of sight. He wasn't entirely sure what the hell happened, who the hell Patrick was but he knew only horrible things waited should he waste time. And now he was afraid that if they didn't act quickly enough Patrick would finish what he started. Hadn't he basically said as much to Shawn before dragging him out of the building?

"Where's my son?" Henry barked as he came into the warehouse a few seconds behind Juliet. Chief Vick and Gus were right on his heels. "Where is Shawn?"

"Patrick took him," Lassiter said. One of the members of SWAT produced a knife from somewhere on his person and started cutting at the ropes, careful not to cut Lassiter in the process. While the man worked Lassiter quickly filled the others in on what happened, including the fact that the other detective admitted to having killed at least one cop while shooting a bunch of other people. He figured the looks of disgust that registered on their faces mirrored his own. "So what are we going to do to get Shawn back? That bastard can't come waltzing into my life and take out Shawn, even if I do find him annoying most of the time."

"I'll get an eye in the sky," Chief Vick said, stepping away from the commotion to make the call.

"Who is Patrick?" Juliet inquired, eyeing Lassiter curiously.

Once Lassiter was free he stalked toward the front door, intent on getting in his car and driving off into the night, anything to make it feel like he was doing something to help Shawn. For the first time he realized just how deeply he'd suffer if Shawn should be taken out of his life permanently. He kept thinking of the old clichéd saying that one doesn't know what they have got until it's gone. He regretted yelling at Shawn that day, the day responsible for all of this shit. He needed to learn to keep his anger in check when it came to Shawn. Easier said than done on most days but he made a mental promise to try if only he could get Shawn back in one piece, safe and sound.

He was standing there under the blanket of stars, hands shaking, when he felt someone touch him on the shoulder. Gazing to his right he saw Juliet standing there, compassion and understanding in her eyes. "You love him, don't you? You finally figured it out."

"I kissed him," Lassiter blurted out.

She smiled. "And, how did that work out for you?"

He tore his eyes away from hers. "I…definitely felt something. Never in a million years did I think something like this would happen. I mean…Maybe I don't know what I mean."

"It's okay, Carlton," she squeezed his hand comfortingly. "These things sort themselves out in time. And don't you worry one bit. We'll get Shawn back."

"We had better or I'm going to make that asshole beg for his life."

* * *

Once they were clear of the city Patrick pulled onto the shoulder of the road, forced Shawn to put on a pair of handcuffs at gunpoint. The metal bit cruelly into the flesh of his wrists, little trickles of blood marring the skin. He feared, then prayed, that a heart attack would take him swiftly away from this awful place, his heart threatening to break through his ribcage. There were so many things he wanted to do differently, so many things he _could_ have done differently and avoided this moment. Instead of downing that damn bottle of pills he should have told Lassiter about spotting Patrick in town that night. Should have come clean about the identity of the man that harmed him.

Instead the mix of shame and fear kept the truth locked away inside.

And now it looked as though he were going to pay for his mistakes.

Why did it come to this? _How_ did it come to this? He bit his bottom lip to keep the tears at bay not wanting to give Patrick the satisfaction of seeing him cry. While he sat there trying to formulate some sort of plan to get out of this alive Patrick took the keys out of the ignition and stepped out of the car. He walked around the front, yanked open the passenger side door and jerked Shawn out of the vehicle. He hit the pavement, avoiding whacking his head on the unforgiving pavement by millimeters. Wrapping his hand around the chain connecting the cuffs he forced Shawn to stand.

"It's a shame that this had to go this way, hm, Shawnie?" he spoke, his voice laced with acid. "I never should have bothered with you. Or at least I should have killed you the night I drove that knife deep into your side." At that point he punched Shawn in the general location of the still healing wound. Pain shot through Shawn's body as he took an involuntary step back. "Well, you see, I always finish what I start. Might take a little while but I always get the job done. The only problem is how do I finish this one? Any ideas, Shawnie?"

Shawn couldn't find the strength to speak as he fought the pain and a nasty wave of nausea. Maybe he didn't want to fight. Maybe he'd finally given up.

"I could kill you first. But don't you agree that it would be more fun to murder your father, your best friend, that despicable Detective Lassiter, and every other person you care for? One by one you'd lose them. Then, and only then I could mercifully end your suffering. Or let you spend the rest of your miserable life reminiscing, thinking what might have been. I think that I like that option better."

Something inside of Shawn snapped. Foolishly he went after Patrick, tired of playing the stupid games. If it was going to be over then he wanted it to end right here, right now. Patrick hadn't been expecting his surprise attack, caught off-guard he didn't react quickly enough. The two of them struggled for a few minutes until the gun went off. For the second time that night pain shot through Shawn's body as he fell to his knees. The warmth of blood began to coat his stomach causing his shirt to stick to his skin.

"You were never good enough for me, Shawn."

Sirens. Blessed sirens in the distance. And yet, he didn't care. None of it mattered anymore. This was the end of the game. And he'd lost.

"You aren't good enough for anyone."

Patrick raised the gun one more time and pulled the trigger without batting an eyelash.


	27. Masquerade

**Twenty-Seven: Masquerade**

He toyed with the pen, tapping it on his thigh as he stared into space. His mind was far away, in another time and place. So much had happened over the last week or so that he got lost in the details, the bigger picture fading into the background. He fidgeted with the pen trying not to think about where he got it. A box. He plucked it form a discarded shoebox he stumbled upon not too long ago in the trashcan of Shawn's apartment. One of the few things Shawn had taken from his desk. A little piece of him that Shawn obviously wanted to keep close.

To see such a simple object treasured by another person struck a chord with him. He let the pen fall into the box amongst the other artifacts. Pictures. Newspaper clippings. So many various things pertaining to his life. All taken and put away in a special place by Shawn. Lassiter felt like such a heel. A real jerk having missed out on how much Shawn loved him. How could he have been so blind to something so obvious to everyone else? They all knew, and for so long. They all knew how Shawn felt about him and now he knew as well. But what good did it do him?

Juliet settled in the seat beside him, removing one of the photos from the box. She stared at it. "I remember taking this photo," she said softly.

Lassiter looked from her to the photo and back again. "I wondered who was responsible for some of these. Figured Gus couldn't have taken all of them given he's in a portion of them. Why did you do it, O'Hara? Why didn't you tell me?"

She let the picture fall back into the box, then surprising both herself and Lassiter she took his hand. "I am so sorry, Carlton. I never thought…" She couldn't bring herself to look at him. She had seen it in his eyes one day when her partner said something close to praise. The light shining ever so brightly in Shawn's eyes. The truth about his hidden feelings. And she couldn't help herself but confront him. Shawn told her everything. "You should have heard the tone of his voice. When you weren't around but definitely the topic of conversation he became an entirely different person. Despite the way you treated him you quickly became the center of his whole world."

"Why? I don't understand. After the way I treated him…" Lassiter shook his head in utter disbelief, grief marring the features of his face.

"Love is a powerful emotion, Carlton. It makes us do strange things," she chewed on her bottom lip wondering if she should tell him a few other secrets. Then she figured it couldn't hurt. Not now, not anymore. "To be perfectly honest, Carlton, we all worried it might be a bad thing. Apparently Gus and Henry both tried talking him out of it. They worried about him, fretted over what loving you might do to him. Try as I might to support their cause I just couldn't." She actually smiled, finally finding it within herself to look at him. "You should have seen how he lit up, Carlton. How could I destroy something so pure, so beautiful? He loved you. Nothing you did made that love waver."

"Until that day…"

She let her eyes shift toward the floor. "Yeah…"

Lassiter placed the lid back on the box, climbed to his feet. "I think I need to go home. I need to be alone, get some sleep."

"Call me, Carlton, for anything. Please."

"Sure," he grumbled as he headed off down the hallway.

* * *

Arriving at home he didn't even bother to turn on any of the lights. He left his keys on the counter with his wallet and badge. With the box tucked under his arm he made his way up the stairs to his bedroom, pausing momentarily at the room where Shawn slept that one night. He recalled with perfect clarity walking into the room to find Shawn crying. To see Shawn cry, he should have realized then just how much things had changed. Perhaps that would have been the moment to make his move, let Shawn know how he felt.

Too late now.

Closing the door he turned his back on the room before slipping into his bedroom. The darkness welcomed him with open arms. He stuck his gun in the nightstand drawer, placed the box beside the lamp before falling into bed. The silence should have gotten to him, should have hammered into his head and driven him crazy. But instead he curled up on his side, screwed his eyes shut. With his eyes closed all he saw were images of Shawn. Shawn laughing, acting weird, convincing everyone around him that he was psychic and capable of solving crimes by getting visions from some unknown source. Shawn happy, healthy, the whole world within reach.

And then he saw a new Shawn, a darker Shawn. Shawn withdrawn and broken, destroyed by love. He felt a stab of pain in his gut, a numbing void in his heart. He recalled the horror he felt when he first saw the open wound in Shawn's side. Holding Shawn after he'd been hurt in his apartment. The strong feeling of nausea that swept over him when Shawn recounted the terrible things that happened to him at the hands of someone that he should have been able to trust.

He turned on his back hoping to drive the flashing images from his mind. Instead he saw Shawn being dragged away while he could do nothing to stop it. He felt the dampness of tears, actual honest to goodness tears, sliding down his cheeks as he flashed back to his last image of Shawn. The blood, so much blood. Henry had been driving. When they arrived at the scene Patrick was long gone, vanishing into the night. What he had left behind was a body lying in the road. Lassiter's breath caught in his throat as he remembered racing across the pavement, time standing still.

His world came crashing down when he realized the body was Shawn. And there was so much blood. A wound to the gut. Another to the head. He had tentatively touched the bleeding wound in Shawn's head afraid to reach for a pulse…

Lassiter bored holes in the ceiling, no longer willing to close his eyes.

Everything seemed to be happening too quickly. Was it possible he was beginning to lose his mind? The events of the last week or so began to blur into one. And yet, the images he kept seeing most were those of Shawn injured, hurt. From the stab wound in his side to the empty bottle of pills and the horrible gunshot wounds. He curled up on his side, wrapping his arms around his stomach. If he could take back that day that seemed so long ago now he would in a heartbeat. Even though it would mean he was still blind to the truth about Shawn's feelings. At least it meant none of this would have happened.

In an alternate universe…

He really needed to learn to control his anger. Perhaps now that he was on an ordered leave of absence he might look into some anger management classes. Or he could just hole up in his house hiding away from the world. Dwelling. Wallowing. Avoiding the looks of those around him. He did not want there pity. Did not want to see their anger, the accusations clear in their eyes. He did not need them to show him how much this was his fault.

He was the only person to blame.

Unable to stay in bed as his anger toward himself grew, Lassiter got up and began pacing the room, arms crossed over his chest. He began to think of all the things he should have done differently, how he could have handled Shawn better. From there he thought back over the slew of investigations trying to pick up on any subtle signs of Shawn's feelings toward him. Something he should have seen but missed in the long run. Something that could have warned him…Why had he not seen how fragile Shawn was? Because with Shawn fragile was the last thing that crossed his mind.

Perhaps crazy but definitely not fragile. At least not in the beginning.

Frustrated, mad, he punched the wall instantly bloodying his knuckles. He heard the trill of his cell phone and with his heart fluttering he retrieved it from the table where he discarded it. Juliet. He flipped open the phone.

"He's awake, Carlton," she said the minute he answered. "And he wants to talk to you. He knows what happened at the warehouse and he figures you have some questions."


	28. If I Knew Then

Not: Just a reminder that I am now posting over at FictionPress under the same name!

* * *

**Twenty-Eight: If I Knew Then**

Lassiter rushed to the hospital nearly breaking a few laws on his way there, actually running a stop sign at one point. Without a cop in the nearby area it didn't really matter all that much to him. He knew he shouldn't be doing it as he crossed through the intersection but there was somewhere more important he needed to be. Upon reaching the hospital he parked his unmarked police car in the first available spot he came across, not caring in the least that he had to walk through a big portion of the parking lot to reach the entrance of the emergency room.

A man on a mission he made quick work of the expanse of black top and breezed into the bustling hospital department. Waiting for him seeming anxious, looking worried and overly tired was Juliet. She tried her best to give him an honestly happy smile but it fell short. He knew all too well how she felt because he felt much the same way. Only she could never begin to imagine the guilt gnawing away at his heart. The pain that increased with each passing minute. Thoughts of how he could have handled things differently plagued him at every chance.

It was going to be a long time before he got the opportunity to enjoy a moment of peace.

"You made it here in record time," she said in way of starting the conversation.

"I need some answers," he grumbled, eyeing the door behind her. Through the small window he could see a uniformed officer posted outside one of the rooms. At the sight of the officer his stomach begun to flip flop and he put a hand on the wall to stable himself. "Are you sure he asked to talk with me and me alone?"

Juliet followed his line of sight. "Yes, I'm sure. He made the same request of me that he did the chief and Mr. Spencer. He only wants to speak with you, Lassiter."

"Then let's get this done."

"Are you sure that you want to do it now? Have you had a chance to sleep?"

He took a step in the direction of the door. "I need to do this now, O'Hara. I can't put it off or I will never be able to sleep."

"As long as you're sure."

Instead of answering he pushed the door and slipped inside. At the sound of the slightly squeaky hinges the uniformed officer looked up, his hand going toward his holster. Seeing Lassiter the officer relaxed, went back to reading his magazine. It made Lassiter feel a little better knowing that the officer was taking his job seriously. Hopefully there were others who felt the same way. He nodded his head at his fellow officer before pausing outside the hospital room. He took a deep breath, steeled his spine and pushed open the door. Machines beeped and whirred, the place smelled like antiseptic and medicine.

He loathed hospital. Too many bad memories.

Walking over to the side of the bed he looked down at the man lying under the white blanket, tried not to focus on the finer details like the connecting wires or the bandages. He swallowed nervously. He'd been waiting for this moment for a bit and now that it was here in front of him the only thing he wanted to do was turn and walk away. He might hear a few things he did not wish to know. Sometimes the old saying was true, ignorance was bliss. Not knowing never hurt anyone.

Still…he _had_ to know.

He cleared his throat.

Blue-green eyes turned in his direction. "Detective Lassiter." A deep, strong voice not in line with the image presented before him.

"Detective Mark Rossi."

"We have much to talk about. I believe you have some questions."

"That's an understatement. I want to know everything."

Mark made a gesture with his hand. "Well, ask your questions."

Lassiter looked around, spotted the chair used by visitors and pulled it over to the side of the bed. As he settled on the cushion he realized he'd forgotten to grab his notebook on his way out the front door. What the hell was he going to write on? His job made it so that he was used to taking notes on just about everything. Perhaps having left his notebook at home instead of grabbing it out of habit was the universe's way of saying that most of what he was about to hear needed to stay between him and Mark. As he stared at the other detective he tried to think of a proper place to start.

"When did you meet Shawn?" he inquired, figuring it to be the best question to lead off the interview.

"A few months back," Mark answered. "I can't remember the exact date but the boy made quite the first impression. He was singing a Cher song and flitting about the parking lot. I thought he was high on drugs or something."

Despite himself Lassiter felt a ghost of a smile on his lips. It sounded like the Shawn he knew and had grown to love. He could picture it so perfectly in his mind. And that picture brought with it a stab of pain. "And what was he doing there?"

"He told me he was there to see Patrick."

That stab of pain quickly turned to a burning ember of hatred. What he would not give to…"Explain to me how you know Patrick."

Mark took a sip from a cup on the nightstand table. Lassiter tried not to think about the injuries the detective suffered but it was hard. A white bandage wrapped around the detective's neck from a gunshot wound. It amazed him how strongly Mark sounded when he talked, almost like he sustained no damage whatsoever. The bullet must have missed the vocal chords. He knew from a few talks that another bandage wove its way around the detective's chest from a second bullet wound. There was also a white bandage on the man's forehead from where he'd been hit with the butt of a gun. Injuries that could have cost him his life…

"Detective Patrick Woodson is my partner. I am not proud to say that but it is the truth," Mark began his story. "We worked together a few years, got pretty close. You know what it's like." He did not wait for any confirmation from Lassiter before going on. "We got to know each other pretty well. When I learned that Mark preferred men over women, I didn't even bat an eyelash. Kind of figured it out on my own. And who was I to judge him?"

"Did he have any relationships before Shawn?"

"A few but none he never got serious about," replied Mark, furrowing his brows. "In hindsight I should have realized why but it took me far too long to put the pieces together."

"So you figured it out he was abusive?"

Closing his eyes momentarily, Mark nodded his head slightly. "I never did anything about it. I mean, I confronted him once when one of his boyfriends kept showing up with a black eye. He assured me nothing bad would happen."

"And you believed him."

"He was my partner," Mark defended, a bit of an edge to his voice.

"And since he's supposed to have your back…"

Mark frowned, his brow furrowed. "Listen, I'm not proud of some of the things in my past. You can't tell me that you are. But Patrick used to be a decent man. A damned fine cop, too. Then things started going south."

"Save me the sob story," Lassiter dismissed with a wave of his hand. He wasn't entirely interested in knowing what life had been like for Patrick Woodson. None of it mattered to him now. The man deserved to die a painful, horrible death. "Tell me about how you met Shawn."

A flicker of pain passed over Mark's face. "I should have helped him sooner. I warned him not to move in with Mark, tried to get him to see the truth without coming right out and saying it. Boy was too stubborn, refused to listen to a word I said. So I did my best to keep an eye on him."

Lassiter felt a jolt of pain in the general vicinity of his heart. He knew better than anyone just how stubborn Shawn could be. To hear someone else make that judgment nearly broke him. And it brought with it a great deal of guilt. None of this would have happened had he simply been kinder to Shawn. Had he managed to keep his anger in check Shawn would have stayed and thus avoided such a terrible fate. He wouldn't be sitting in the hospital trying to put the pieces together. Sighing, he drove the depressive thoughts from his mind. He could wallow in misery later.

He decided to use a potentially damning piece of evidence. "I know someone who is willing to testify to the fact that it was you that hurt Shawn. Not Patrick Woodson."

No surprise registered on Mark's face. "You must be talking about Betty Farnsworth. Lady can't keep her nose out of other people's business."

"She saw you the night Shawn got taken to the hospital in an ambulance."

Mark slowly let out a sigh, eyes closed. He rubbed his temple. "I remember that night like it was yesterday. Right around the time I believe Shawn began to see the error of his ways. He must have called me five times that day but I was so busy with work I didn't get around to calling him back. When I finally got his messages I could tell he was distraught, upset. Afraid. With a sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach I went to Patrick's house. Hell, I spent a lot of time at Patrick's house. With me around he never tried to cross the line. He always wanted to look like the perfect man."

"What did you find when you got to the house?" Lassiter asked the question before he even realized it. Perhaps on some level he really did not wish to know the answer. Too late to take back the words now.

"Patrick wasn't around. I found Shawn lying on the living room floor, unconscious from a head wound. Called the ambulance myself. When the paramedics arrived I lied, said he hit his head on the coffee table after blacking out."

"Mrs. Farnsworth said it was the kitchen counter."

"Well, yes, I do recall telling her that but like I said, the woman is nosy. I should have told her the truth," Mark grumbled. His right hand clenched into a fist. "In hindsight I should have made a formal report. Foolishly I left Shawn in the hospital alone, got called away to the job. By the time I got back Patrick had convinced him to stay."

How many times over the years had he heard similar tales? He dealt with those cases to the best of his abilities, always feeling sorry for the parties involved. Always silently chastising the victims for not making their escape before things got too far out of hand. He knew, though, that leaving an abusive relationship wasn't always an easy step. He recalled a case he worked before Shawn stepped into his life. Called out by a neighbor. When he arrived at the scene the victim, a woman in her mid-twenties, was being wheeled away on a stretcher. The neighbors knew that she was a victim of abuse, that her man liked to throw her around. And while he was leading the guy away in handcuffs she was ready to forgive him, to take him back despite the fact he broke her collar bone and marked her up badly. Fools.

Sitting in the hospital listening to someone talk about Shawn in such a situation left him numb, empty inside. He never thought something like this would happen to someone he knew. Someone he cared about.

"Were you aware that Shawn was stabbed and sexually assaulted the night he left?"

Mark shook his head. "No. I thought he just finally made his escape."

"And yet you showed up in my city," Lassiter fished for answers.

"I saw the way Patrick was behaving," Mark confessed. "Got me curious so I thought I would head down this way, see about checking up on Shawn. Patrick knew everything there was to know about Shawn even if Shawn never told him. It was his leverage."

Lassiter kept his mouth shut, waiting somewhat impatiently for Mark to continue his story.

"When I heard about the officer shooting I knew Patrick had to be in the area. I always suspected him of killing that officer up north but could never find the evidence." Mark looked to be dealing with a shit load more grief than Lassiter. "Then I heard them use your name. Shawn referred to you a few times, though he never did discuss you in depth. I could tell, though, just by the look in his eyes…"

And Mark paused, gazing at Lassiter. "He loves you."

"Yeah, so I hear. Get on with the story."

"I got myself assigned to the case, thought it might help me keep Patrick from getting a hold of Shawn. Or at least give me the opportunity of giving you a heads up."

"Which you never did."

"And how exactly was I supposed to touch upon the subject?"

Lassiter shrugged.

"There are a lot of things I could have done differently. A lot. But what's done is done and I can't take any of it back," concluded Mark. "Not once did I expect Patrick to find you at the hospital. Not once did I expect him to try killing me. I…" He closed his eyes, was silent for a few minutes. "Shawn. Please tell me Shawn is okay."

Lassiter let out his own deep troubling sigh. He found he could not look at Mark when he spoke. "He's in the ICU. Patrick shot him twice, once in the gut, once in the head."

A sharp intake of breath. "He's going to be okay." A statement, not a question. "I've seen how stubborn he can be. He'll be just fine."

_I wish the doctor's were that convinced,_ Lassiter thought but did not speak out loud. He excused himself from the room finding he suddenly needed fresh air. Escaping the hospital he wandered for a while until he found a bench placed underneath a vast willow tree. Sinking on to the worn wood he buried his head in his hands and began to weep.


	29. The Point

**Twenty-Nine: The Point**

Before leaving the hospital Lassiter stopped by Shawn's room. He could still see in his mind the moment he found Shawn lying in the road. He thought for sure he'd failed and Shawn had been killed by his former abuser. There had been so much blood. And though he knew it was possible for people to survive gunshot wounds to the head he knew the outlook to be grim. As he walked into the hospital room he wondered what sort of long term affects Shawn would suffer because of the bullet wound.

He tried to count himself lucky since Shawn was still alive. Apparently the trajectory of the bullet had been slightly off causing the bullet to enter Shawn's skull, fracturing it but going no further than that. Definitely a lucky break. Still, the doctors continued to worry about the possibility of infection and were watching Shawn 'round the clock to make sure there was no swelling. The bullet to his abdomen had caused a bit more damage and had left Shawn in surgery for more than two hours.

And now, as Lassiter stood at his bedside, he was only a shell of his former self. All the tubes and wires, the noise of the machines, none of it fit with the men he had known. The man he had grown to love over the course of the last few days. Try as he might to ignore the truth there was just no denying it. For so long he thought of Shawn as an irritating anoint, a pest that got underfoot and upstaged him time and time again. But everything had changed, most importantly, the light in which he saw Shawn. He took hold of Shawn's hand, rubbing his thumb in little circles on the back of his hand. Though Shawn was warm to the touch the deathly pale appearance of his skin actually scared Lassiter.

He tried not to think of what it would be like if Shawn wasn't around anymore. He already knew without dwelling on it that life wouldn't be the same. That he wouldn't be the same. And what about the others? Shawn was Henry's only son and he may not be the first one to admit but he was always proud of Shawn, Lassiter saw in the man's eyes every time Shawn helped solve a case. Gus, the best friend a person could ask for, always standing by Shawn's side no matter how crazy he acted. This had to be destroying him. And Juliet, poor O'Hara, every time he'd seen her since finding Shawn she burst into tears. He wasn't used to seeing his partner so sentimental but understood what she was going through. Shawn changed everything.

"You have to get better," he whispered. "because I don't know what I'm going to do if you don't wake up."

His private moment was ruined by a knock on the door and the entrance of a nurse. She smiled compassionately at him. "I'm sorry, sir, but visiting hours are over. You are more than welcome to come back tomorrow and spend more time with Mr. Spencer if you like."

"Of course," he said, letting go of Shawn's hand. He gave the once so upbeat and peppy man one last look before heading for the door. "Take care of him, please?"

"He'll have the best care," she assured. "You go home and get some rest."

On his way out of the hospital he walked through the halls like a man haunted. How was he supposed to fall asleep not knowing if Shawn was going to make it? The idea that Shawn might die in the middle of the night terrified him. And even though there was an officer posted outside of Shawn's room every minute of every hour he still worried that Patrick might make an attempt to get at Shawn one last time, make sure to bring around that final end. If only he could find Patrick. If only they had something to go on. Alas, none of their leads were panning out. It was looking more and more like Patrick might get away with hurting Shawn.

And that didn't sit well with Lassiter.

What was he supposed to tell Shawn when he finally woke up? He knew without a doubt that one of Shawn's first questions would be whether or not Patrick had been taken into custody. He couldn't very well lie and the truth would absolutely break Shawn.

As he slipped behind the wheel of his car he thought about laying back the seat and just sleeping there. That way if anything should happen he wouldn't be too far away. Then he realized that he was being crazy. He needed to go home. He needed to get some sleep or he risked getting sick himself. Pushing the key into the ignition he started up the car. He decided to take a more scenic route on the way home, not really wanting to get home to the silence he knew he'd find there. It wasn't until the radio suddenly cut out that he realized he'd taken a drive in the completely opposite direction, traveling down the road on which they found Shawn. He slowed, the only vehicle on the road.

He pulled his car along the shoulder, remembering the exact spot where Shawn had been laying. It was going to be one of those things he never forgot. Never. He must have sat there for an hour listening to his own breathing before shaking himself out of his reverie and pulling back onto the road. A little further up the way he pulled an illegal u-turn. He was driving back the other way, leery of animals darting out into the road when he noticed a set of headlights coming up behind him. He didn't pay them much attention. Probably just another poor soul out for a late night drive.

That all changed, however, when the driver picked up speed and rear-ended Lassiter's car. The other driver hit the back of the car in just the right spot with just enough force to send Lassiter's sedan fishtailing across the road, over the shoulder, down the ditch and into a tree. There had been no time for him to react, the accident happening so suddenly. The night filled with the sound of shattering glass, crunching metal. The airbag kept Lassiter from hitting his head on the steering wheel but he still felt the sticky warmth of blood above his right eye where a piece of shattered glass had cut him. He gasped for oxygen, fighting to get his seatbelt off.

A glance in the rearview mirror showed the other vehicle, a rather large pick-up truck, sitting in the middle of the road. He could see the driver still sitting behind the wheel. For a few minutes he thought about playing dead with hopes the driver would just continue on down the road. But his chances of that happening ended when the driver's door opened on the truck. Finally getting free of his seat belt Lassiter reached for the door handle, shoving himself against it. It took two or three tries before it finally gave and he tumbled out of the car.

Quickly climbing to his feet he found he was unstable, reaching out to put his hand on the roof of the damaged car.

"Detective Lassiter, funny thing running into you here."

"Yeah, funny thing that," Lassiter grumbled, an instant jolt of anger shooting through his body. He figured Patrick would go after Shawn doing what he could while Shawn was completely defenseless. The prospect of Patrick coming after him never once crossed his mind. He spotted the gun in Patrick's hand knowing exactly what the other detective planned on doing. He reached for the gun he had hidden behind his back. Technically he wasn't allowed to have it in the hospital but he kept it with him at all times; one of the things Shawn had come to rely on when it came to him.

"I do think I will leave you here wounded and only call for assistance once I have finished with Shawn," Patrick mused. "Wouldn't that be splendid? Talk about a blow to all the people who know you like that pretty little blond partner of yours."

Lassiter tried to keep his movements as unnoticeable as possible.

"You won't within ten miles of Shawn, you asshole."

Patrick laughed giving Lassiter the moment he'd been waiting for, pulling the semiautomatic from its concealed space. He didn't bother to hesitate in pulling the trigger, hitting Patrick square in the chest. The detective looked at the spreading pool of blood with a look of shock. Lassiter didn't give him the chance to respond, shooting him again. The second bullet knocked Patrick off his feet, the dirty detective crumbling to the ground in a heap. Lassiter leaned heavily on the car as his vision began to blur, praying that Patrick was down for the count as he began to feel dizzy and somewhat nauseous.

Thankfully Patrick didn't move, didn't so much as budge or flinch. With relief Lassiter slid down the car landing on the ground. When the dizzy spell passed he went in search of his cell phone, locating it in his back pocket. He dialed 911.

When dispatch picked up he was barely conscious enough to realize what was happening. "Officer down, needs assistance."

And then he was out like a light.


	30. Afraid

**Thirty: Afraid**

When next he opened his eyes Lassiter found himself staring at a white ceiling. It did not take a rocket scientist to figure out where he was; the hospital. He grumbled under his breath wondering if he would be spending the rest of his life in the damn place. He managed to do pretty good when it came to avoiding being admitted to the hospital but lately he seemed as though he lived in the sterile environment. He let out a slow sigh.

Then began to take stock of his injuries as he remembered the show down with Patrick. His head hurt, that was the first thing he noticed. A pounding headache making the room seem too bright. Probably a mild concussion. The air bag may have kept him from smacking his head against the windshield or steering wheel but the sudden stop and jarring motion would have taken its toll nonetheless. He also felt the pain across his chest as he tried to sit up. The seatbelt. Had he bothered to look he would have bet his last penny on an ugly bruise spreading across his chest.

Everything else appeared to be in proper working order without even the hint of pain. The longer he lay there aware of his surroundings the more agitated he became. The second time he attempted to move it didn't hurt nearly as much. Sitting up in the hospital bed he was surprised to find he had somehow retained his clothing. They had not removed his choice of clothing and stuck him in one of those tasteless hospital gowns. He took that to be a good sign. Maybe he hadn't been admit to the hospital after all. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed he thought about standing up but the room kind of danced back and forth before finally settling back into place.

His brain needed to adjust to his new elevation.

Fine, he could sit for a while, especially since he could see O'Hara walking down the hall in his direction. While she took her sweet time he had a look around the room. Not hospital equipment. Carpet instead of tile on the floor. Pleasant pastel wallpaper instead of blinding white walls. There was a small chest of drawers against one wall, a tv sitting atop it. Two chairs and a small table sat in the far corner. Not like any of the rooms in the hospital he was used to. Where the hell…?

"Nice to see you up," O'Hara spoke as she stopped in the doorway of the room.

He turned his attention back to her. "Where am I?"

"The hospital," she confirmed his original suspicions. "They put you through a few tests, decided that you would be fine. Definitely sore but capable of going home so they brought you up here. These are the rooms were family members usually stay for patients in the ICU."

He didn't want to think about Shawn. Not right now. He pushed all his worry and doubts to the back of his mind. "Patrick?"

"Dead," she told him. "Actually, a detective will be up shortly to interview you about what happened, though we have a fairly good idea given the state of the accident scene." She took a few steps into the room. "I wanted to do the interview myself but the chief said it would be a conflict of interest, that as your partner I might feel the need to cover up certain facts."

"Hm."

Before Lassiter could react she closed the space between them, throwing her arms around him. He winced in pain but somehow managed not to vocalize how he felt. She had never acted this way before, had never been this worried for his safety. Not that he doubted how she felt about him; after all, they were partners. They were supposed to form some sort of bond. Perhaps he failed to realize just how deep that bond ran. Apparently he had been missing out on a lot of things lately. When he noticed her shoulders shaking he realized she was crying. It made him a little uncomfortable. Still, he reached out, wrapping her in his embrace. Turned out he needed the hug as much as she did. A tear slid down his cheek. So much had happened in the last few days it all began to blur together.

There was one thing Lassiter knew for sure, though.

One thing he could no longer deny.

Suddenly O'Hara stepped back, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand. She straightened her shirt to keep from looking at him. "Well, I should be going. There are things that need to be taken care of. I will be back in a few hours to pick up you and take you home."

She gave him no chance to respond, breezing out the door like she had never been there in the first place, nothing more than a figment of his imagination. He began to feel a bit tired so he lay back down on the bed, his mind racing. There was something he had to do. Something he couldn't put off too much longer. But he was tired, exhausted from the events of the last few days and his body demanded rest. As he closed his eyes he said a little prayer.

* * *

It was dark when he came to the second time around. Thankfully most of the pain in his head seemed to have gone away. When he sat up the room stayed in place. He slid off the side of the bed, careful to keep his hand on the mattress until he was sure his legs would hold. Steady on his feet he trudged out into the hallway. The night lights were on and the hospital looked dead. In the silence the only sound he heard was that created by his shoes on the tile floor. He reached the bank of elevators by following the signs. He pushed the button, one thing on his mind.

The hospital spared him the horror of elevator music.

Down on the ICU things were a little more upbeat. He passed by a few nurses, none of them bothering to stop him. By now they all knew who he was and why he was there at such a late hour. Suddenly he wondered what happened to O'Hara stopping by to take him home. A quick glance at his watch told him that it was nearing midnight. She must have swung by and found him asleep, decided not to bother him and went on her way.

Upon reaching Shawn's room he noticed the officer that had been posted outside the room long gone. Of course, removed from duty now that he was no longer needed. Patrick would never be able to hurt Shawn again. He made sure of that and oddly enough, killing the guy did not bother him in the least. Someone like Patrick was scum, not worth the time of day. Lassiter paused outside the ICU room, one hand on the door. His eyes closed, he prepared himself for what he knew waited on the other side.

Entering the room he found Shawn lying in the hospital bed with various wires and tubes running from his body to a plethora of machines Lassiter knew nothing about. Some beeped, others made whirring sounds. The door hissed shut behind him. He walked across the floor his eyes trained on Shawn. Try as he might he could not ignore the white bandage wrapped around Shawn's head. A stark reminder of how serious the young man's injuries were, how close Shawn came to dying.

And he still wasn't out of the woods.

Lassiter pulled over the chair meant for visitors settling beside the bed. He took Shawn's hand in his, clasping it tightly. A lifeline. He had done a lot of soul searching, dealt with a lot of things, some good, some bad, and all of it had led him to this point.

"I have been doing a lot of thinking, Shawn. I must admit, the idea of us together is absurd but the more I dwell on it…" He paused, suddenly needing to collect himself. He felt tears welling in his eyes. "You can't leave me, Shawn, do you hear me? It isn't fair to put me in this position and then leave me without giving me a chance. I want a chance, Shawn. But you need to wake up."

The tears began to slide down his cheeks.

"Please, Shawn, wake up."

**FIN**

**For Gwen who fought so hard**


End file.
